The 2nd Hunger Games
by sally134
Summary: A sequel to my 1st Hunger Games story (contains spoilers!) This time we're following Delta Alongshore, a District Four girl fighting to return to her family as the Games become more established in Panem culture. Hope you like it!
1. Chapter 1: Taking Tesserae

The 2nd Hunger Games

Tessarae

I'm cold. The wind blows inland from the sea and I taste a familiar trace of salt in the air, I lick my lips but it doesn't alleviate the dryness caused by coastal life.

"How much longer?" My brother Poma complains, I shush him gently and put my arm around his shoulders, rubbing warmth into his upper arm and back. We have been queuing for hours but the line winds at least half a mile behind us so I am glad we came so early.

A shrill, clipped accent catches my ear and I whip my head around to see a Capitol citizen tottering towards us on unbelievably high heels, she ignores the crowd and gives sharp direction to her assistants.

"Lights!" She commands "We need more light!" A muscular yet beleaguered man runs cables along the steps of the Justice Building and powers up a huge lighting array, I suddenly feel very grimy and try to surreptitiously wipe some dirt from Poma's cheek. The Capitol woman sneers at the town square and tuts "It will have to do I suppose. Come, come everyone! Smile for the cameras!"

The newscast came last week, President Snow himself made the announcement, the Capitol would provide free food in exchange for us having more entries into the Hunger Games. My mother and I wouldn't let Poma do it of course but I can't say no to a little extra help for our family. My father is a deckhand on a deep sea fishing boat and won't be ashore to sell his catch for another three weeks, my mother works in the cannery, but it pays little more than pennies and not enough to keep us all fed and clothed. Before the rebellion I would brave the strong current and swim out to the south guard tower to set traps for crab or lobster; the peacekeepers used to turn a blind eye to us feeding ourselves from the ocean but now, if we're caught, it's a whipping in the square. I still risk it now and again when we have no other choice, I won't let us starve and I'm smart enough to know the best times to try it.

A peacekeeper organises us into a line and Poma falls in behind me; the strange Capitol woman stalks up and down, complaining about our sullen, unhappy faces. Suddenly she stops and gestures towards me "There! The pale one!"

I don't know why I look around, my skin is as white as bleached coral and my shoulder length hair is such a pale shade of blonde that I seem to have gone grey at eighteen. A motorised camera whirrs its way towards me and buzzes as it zooms in on my face, I try to keep my expression blank and stare only at the back of the auburn head in front of me, it's soon over and the camera moves on down the winding queue of children.

A susurration begins and the queue shuffles forward, winding around the square until I am faced with a Capitol official at a desk; he barely glances at me and instead barks "Name?"

"Delta Alongshore" The man nods and I use my forefinger to give a blood sample so he can record my extra entries into the Games; he flicks his wrist and a peacekeeper approaches me with a sealed, cardboard box. I can't see what's inside but I hope it's worth the risk. As I imagine the contents and begin to peel the tape from the top of the box I hear a small voice say "Poma Alongshore" and I am shaken back to reality.

Poma shrieks as I smack his hand away before he can give his blood sample.

"No! It's just me." The Capitol administrator arches an eyebrow but waves us along with an exasperated sigh and I shove Poma forwards ahead of me where I can keep an eye on him.

We make our way through the narrow side streets and, when I glance over at my brother, I see his bottom lip stuck out and his face knotted in angry defiance.

"We'd already talked about this…" I begin in a placatory tone; we spend so much time together that I hate it when we're on bad terms.

"It's stupid; it'd be smarter for me to take the tesserae because I've only got one entry anyway. I want to help us all too." Poma still whines like a child but I understand he wants to find a way to contribute now the peacekeepers have banned us from fishing off the beach.

I balance the box on one arm and squeeze his shoulder. "I know things are harder now but it'll be easier next year when I can work. You remember how horrible it was watching the Games last year, at least this is the last time they can enter my name…so I might as well have a couple more entries, it won't really affect my odds too much for one year but you'd have to carry the extra entries for six years….ok?"

Poma shrugs, it'll take more than logic to snap him out of his bad mood but I've nothing else to give and he's starting to annoy me so we walk the rest of the way in sullen silence.

Our street of stone cottages is cramped and noisy; we aren't far from the harbour and our neighbours are mostly crew on the fishing boats. The smell of pickled fish is heavy in the air and my arms are beginning to sag from the weight of the box.

Poma opens the door for me and I nod hello to Veera; she, her husband and their three sons live in the two rooms downstairs. I see her curiosity over the tesserae box but I don't stop to chat, my mother will be home soon and I can't wait to see what my life is worth. I rush upstairs to our dwelling and eagerly tear open the box; it contains a can of oil, two large bags of grain, six small cans of beans and a vacuum sealed bag of dried beef jerky. I open our little storage cupboard, the shelves are bare aside from some dried mushrooms, seaweed and a bag of mussels I was able to gather early this morning before going to the Justice building.

As I stack the food I hear Poma gasp and I understand his shock, I don't think our cupboard has ever been this full, even when our father receives his share of the catch there is always something else to pay for; candles, medicine, matches, thread.

"Can we eat something now?" He asks, all glowering forgotten in the presence of such bounty.

I nod and cut him a piece of beef, smiling at the pleasure on his face as he chews and sucks the dry, powdery strip. My stomach growls and I light the stove to boil some water; the grain and mussels are cooking when my mother returns from work. She is a tall woman and paler even than I am, now that her hair is greying; her eyes flit from me to the grain simmering on the stove and she simply holds her arms out to me, I go to her and she whispers into my hair "I'm so sorry."


	2. Chapter 2: Chosen

Reaping

I roll on the balls of my feet and try to stay out of sight, waiting for a peacekeeper to moor a skiff. I need to check the crab pots I set about a mile from the shore and, after a lean few days, I'm hoping for a good haul. The peacekeeper I'm waiting for is called Denn; he's meant to be on shift for another forty minutes but, thanks to some eavesdropping, I know he sees an apothecary for a bad knee so he takes longer to row back to shore. Therefore, he leaves his shift at the shore line guard tower at 3:20 rather than 4am. I start to get impatient but a whiff of smoke on the air tells me that Denn has relaxed himself with a cigar out of the breeze, so I slip into the water and quickly get into a steady pace, swimming against the pull of the tide until I hit open water.

Around forty five minutes later I emerge, gasping, from the early morning surf with three medium sized crabs hanging from my belt in a dive bag. My muscles burn but I move quickly; I've landed a little further up the beach, just in case the next peacekeeper is feeling punctual today, but I daren't hang around and I get up to the safety of the coastal road as soon as possible. I find the bag of clothes I hid at a milestone and change quickly, squeezing the salt water from my hair and stuffing my dive bag deep under my wetsuit. Reaping day will put everyone on edge and I don't want to turn up to the square in handcuffs, beaten and bloodied as an example to those who are considering breaking the rules. Fortunately I am not too cold, my wetsuit was a pricey birthday gift from my parents but it has paid for itself in early morning forays for shrimp, squid and lobster.

The streets are never totally quiet and I smile pleasantly at the merchants that are opening for a few hours business before the reaping begins in the town square. Soon a Capitol propaganda machine will arrive but, until then, we can pretend it's just another ordinary day of ordinary risks.

I see that Veera, my downstairs neighbour, has already begun smoking fish in a huge barrel outside our front door. I hold my breath and squeeze my eyes shut as I hurry through the cloud of white smoke but something smacks into my shoulder, hard, and I'm sent crashing to the floor.

"Sorry!" A deep voice apologises and I feel hands on my elbow and shoulder, helping me upright again.  
"It's ok" I splutter and fumble for the door to stop the fishy smoke stinging my eyes. As the air in the room clears I see Veera's eldest son, Ebb, bending to collect a crab that escaped my bag when I fell. He holds it out to me and I take it, blushing, as Ebb's rough fingers brush my own.

I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end and I mutter my thanks in an effort to cover my embarrassment. I want to say something else but I'm very aware that I'm dripping wet so instead I stumble towards the stairs.

"Good luck today" Ebb calls after me "I'll see you out there later."

"Oh," I turn back to him "Yeah…I hope the odds are in your favour." Ugh! Why did I say that?!

Ebb gives me a wry smile and I hurry upstairs, stamping into the kitchen and dumping the crabs into a metal pot. Hopefully he'll think I was being ironic and not totally idiotic.

"What's the matter with you?" Poma asks. He lights the stove and tries to lift the huge metal kettle we use for brewing tea and making soup.

"Shut up." I snap the words and then immediately regret them "Here…" I grab the spout of the kettle and help him to heave it onto the hob of the stove. Heavy footfalls on the stairs indicate my father is home, he generally picks up work on the dock unloading the early morning fishing boats, and I hear the gentle murmur of my mother's voice.

They smile at the sound of crabs scrabbling around inside the metal pot and my father pours tea for us all. My hands are dry from the salt water and my mother applies a salve to stop the skin cracking and bleeding, I could do it myself but I know she is worried for me today and she wants me to know that she appreciates my efforts around here. Her long fingers sweep over my knuckles and she has a sad expression when she looks at the scars on my arms; during the rebellion the peacekeepers were raiding houses on our street and we had to run and hide quickly. The peacekeepers were supposed to be looking for rebels but, in reality, they were arresting or killing people indiscriminately, breaking us with fear and cruelty. My mother had pushed my brother's hand into mine and told us to go; my parents remained behind to draw the peacekeeper's attention and cover our escape. I left through the back door and dragged Poma down to the sea where we hid under the tarpaulin of a little dinghy but, in my haste, I didn't knot the mooring rope correctly. We bounced across the water until the boat capsized and tipped us into the unkind embrace of the ocean. Poma was a good swimmer, even at ten years old, but he was scared and panicked; so his tired little body held onto me as I swam us back to shore, slamming into rocks which scraped the flesh from my arms. Poma and I hid for hours in the cave before returning home to find my father beaten unconscious and my mother gone to the cells for questioning. Fortunately, she returned when the Capitol made peace with the Districts, but she has her own scars, and we don't talk about her time in the prison under the Justice building. I meet her gaze and squeeze her hand.

The sky is clear and blue and the day could almost be called beautiful. As expected, the Capitol has sent workers to tidy the area in front of the Justice building; they hang a garish banner across the doors which reads _'District Strength Through Panem Unity.'_

The queue of children is eerily quiet; last year we whispered ideas about why we were being gathered together but now we know that two of us will be chosen to die. Some younger ones snivel and cry; their parents try to comfort them but the peacekeepers won't allow the adults to join the queue, so we end up walking in a strange tandem, two parallel queues of people winding through the streets.

I see Poma put his hand to his face and I know he is wiping away a tear, I put my hand on his shoulder for comfort but he shrugs me away, he wants to appear brave and I have to respect that so I return my hand to my pocket and shuffle along behind him.

"Name?" The Capitol worker asks.

"Delta Alongshore," I reply.

A peacekeeper directs me to the other eighteen year olds and I nod solemnly at a few neighbours. There's no chat, no soft murmurs of curiosity and no awkward smiles between friends, instead the stench of fear strangles our voices and keeps our peace.

I don't have to wait long before a Capitol representative trots out onto the stage. He shifts uncomfortably before the microphone, perhaps sensing our hatred, and he fingers the silken ruffles of his collar before tapping the microphone to signal the beginning of this farcical display.

"Good morning District Four! My name is Cinder Humm and I am so pleased to be here today," he surveys the crowd and tries to smile "before we begin, we have a video all the way from the Capitol."

The huge screens display an image of the young, dashing President Snow; he sits stiffly in his grand chair and he has the trace of an amused smile on his lips as he addresses us. "War, terrible war…" The video begins in the same way as last year, reminding us that we are to blame for hardships caused by the rebellion and that we can only become strong with the support of the Capitol.

Cinder Humm claps sycophantically at the recorded words; he turns to us and smiles "I am sure that we all want the unity and strength that the Games provide. Now then…" he crosses the stage to two huge glass bowls that hold thousands of slips of paper. "Our female tribute will be…Delta Alongshore!"

I stand frozen to the spot in the centre of a widening circle; the peacekeepers are hovering, wondering if I need to be taken to the stage by force, I turn to find my parent's faces but I can't find them. Trembling and dizzy, I force myself to walk to the stage and turn to face the crowd. I catch Poma's upturned face and I nearly break when I see he is crying unashamedly.

At first, I wonder why the peacekeepers aren't stopping Ebb from walking around freely, then I realise he is coming towards the stage and Veera wails loudly with sadness, I must have been so wrapped up in my despair that I missed his name. We shake hands and, when I meet his gaze, I see pity in his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3: Facing the Games

Facing the Games

The waiting room in the Justice building looks out on the sea. I want to cry, shriek and beat my fists against the walls but I just stare into the distance and let my thoughts wash into the ocean.

A peacekeeper opens the door for my family and my brother barrels into me, wrapping his arms around my waist; all pretence at being grown up is abandoned and he clings to me like a baby. My mother strokes my hair and my father envelopes us all in his embrace; for a while we just stand there holding each other in silence but we eventually break away and sit on the chairs provided.

"You're clever," my father tells me "you could do this."

I shake my head "What if they're all little ones, twelve and thirteen? I can't butcher children…even to save my own life."

"Then run and hide" my father's expression is stern "don't get drawn into a battle..."

My mother interrupts him, "do what it takes to come home; you'll be surprised with what you can do when your life is on the line…especially when others are trying to hurt you." The dark shadow of a memory seems to cross my mother's face as she speaks, and I wonder how she secured her survival during the dark days. I know that I can be strong for her; but I look at Poma and think of those little kids crying in the queue before the reaping, could I slaughter them to save my own skin?

There are a few more goodbyes, a couple of school-friends and neighbours, all with the same sad eyes and pitying embraces. Then a visit I'm not expecting; Ebb's mother storms in like a whirlwind and grips me by the shoulders. "Not my boy," she growls at me "you don't go near my boy."

"Please…I…I" I try to gather myself; Veera's weather worn face is almost nose-to-nose with my own and I feel a trace of spittle on my cheek from the force of her threat. She sees my panic and confusion and backs away slightly.

"Listen girl, I don't care what happens to you. Ebb is strong and I trust him to do what it takes to come home but I also know you'll do the same." Veera's steely gaze never leaves my eyes and her words drip with venom, "if you hurt him to ensure your victory I will make sure you pay dearly. Your parents, Poma and then you. Take away my boy and you will know true pain."

A peacekeeper comes to tell us our time is up and Veera pulls me into a tight embrace, she kisses me on the cheek and leaves without another word.

I follow the peacekeeper through the streets, it's not a long walk to the train station but I shift awkwardly under the commiserative glances of those who watch from the windows. Merchants seem to be hovering, waiting to re-open their stores and carry on with business as usual; it seems that, once I am on the train, everyone can begin to forget I ever existed.

"My dears, welcome to the comfort of the Capitol." Cinder Humm, the Capitol attendant, throws his arms open dramatically at the interior of the train. I have to admit that it's breath-taking; polished steel gleams, the sterility softened by plush throw rugs and luxurious window draping. Cinder's voice becomes a murmur as I see Ebb board the train behind me. I have spoken to him almost every day of my life, my mother cared for him now and again as a young child, but now I can't bring myself to meet his gaze. He looks uncomfortable, is that because of the thought of the Games? Or has Veera told him to injure me at his earliest opportunity?

"Delta?" Cinder addresses me directly "I asked if you would like some refreshment? There's food and drink in the car down here."

I mumble my thanks and wander towards the dining car. The spread laid out for us is amazing; a thick, spicy squash soup, roast turkey surrounded by potatoes and tiny carrots and then a whipped dessert that tastes of buttermilk and honey.

We eat in silence for a while before Cinder feels compelled to try to start some conversation. "Do you two know each other from the town then?" he asks.

"Yes, we're neighbours." I answer carefully; Ebb is just looking sullenly at his food and Cinder seems to realise that happy chit chatting is not on the cards.

"Well…" He says "At least you have the chance to enjoy some comfort as you make yourselves ready and I feel very positive about both of your odds."

I want to stab a fork into Cinder's hand at the ridiculousness of his comment but I keep my temper. Last year, the Capitol attendants were all interviewed on television and there was a distinct correlation between those who liked their tributes and the amount of help sent during the Games. So, despite thinking Cinder is a Capitol moron, I must at least smile and play nicely.

"Thank you," I reply "I feel very confident about my odds as well." I see Ebb's face twitch at this remark, it's a shame his mother's assertiveness hasn't rubbed off on him, unless he thinks his ignorance will lull me into a false sense of security?

After dinner we watch the reapings in the lounge car. It's just the same as last year; children are stood in their wretchedness on the stage, the crowd staring on with vacant sadness. The victor from the first Hunger Games, Silver, looks strong and cruel; she places a hand on the shoulder of each of the District Two tributes and I notice how healthy they appear.

"Why do District Two look so good compared to everyone else?" I enquire

"Well, as the home of the victor, they have been provided with additional food throughout the year and I believe the development of the gardens in the Victor's Village has provided much work and income." Cinder peers at my face, sees my own longing, "that could be District Four next year; well fed children, work readily available and we could even discuss relaxing the fishing laws."

Ebb's head picks up, "they would let you do that?" he asks.

Cinder nods, "the Capitol will be very favourable towards the winner; we could ensure that your whole District finds a better life."

I want that life so badly but, when I look back at the television screen, I see a little boy take the stage as male tribute for District Ten; he must be only twelve or thirteen and there are tears in his eyes. He sticks his jaw out defiantly and that tough bravado reminds me of Poma, desperate to be a man but fighting back the emotions of a child. I can't kill a child.

I order slices of bread, thick with fruit preserve, and eat them in my room. The light is fading so I change into some pyjamas and slide into the bed. Hours pass but I can't rest; I wander around and order more food until my stomach feels bloated and stiff, I refuse to vomit and instead lie on the hard floor of my cabin. I catch the smell of the sea and realise that it is coming from my discarded shirt; I hold it to my nose and the powerful scent of saltwater brings forth my tears.

Another hour ticks by as I howl and cry pathetically on the cabin floor until I become numb and plunge into the blackness of unhappy sleep.

I awake in a cold sweat; my dreams were filled with events from last year's Games, except that I was there and Poma used broken glass to cut my throat. In that horrible waking moment I decide that I will not be an attacker; I will run, hide and try my best to stay alive. Last year I saw tributes do well by sticking to water courses and staying high up in the trees; I'm not much of a climber but Cinder says there are people in the Capitol to help us train so I'll have to find one for that.

The shower is amazing; there's even a saltwater setting and a special foam wash that smells like seaweed. My clothes from yesterday have been taken so I select a pair of navy trousers and a dove grey jumper from the drawers. I try to keep a sense of purpose; I have a general plan for the Games but I want sponsorship and, last year, that went to the tributes who showed themselves to be survivors through cunning, determination or pure aggression.

"Delta!" Cinder calls through my door, "are you breakfasting with us?"

I go through to the dining car and I see that Ebb and Cinder are already seated; Cinder is wearing a ridiculous sweater made entirely of long feathers and he has to keep blowing them away from his mouth in order to eat.

An attendant serves me a gooey omelette and I pile my side plate high with hot, buttered toast; Ebb eats quickly and returns to his room, so I take the chance to curry favour with Cinder.

"Will the Games be any different this year?" I ask with a bright, curious smile.

"Ah," he taps the side of his nose with a chuckle "all kept very private I'm afraid, no one is told the design of the arena, but you can expect it to be different from last year….wouldn't want it to get boring would we?"

My hands ball into fists under the table but I steady my expression and nod in agreement. Cinder gives an excited shriek and points out of the window; we are in the Capitol.

There is a small crowd waiting at the train station; they crane their necks to get a glimpse of us and raise their eyebrows at me when I pass the window. Ebb reappears in the doorway "who are they?" he asks.

"They are potential sponsors" Cinder tells us eagerly "smiles please!"

Ebb snorts derisively but he isn't totally stupid and he fixes his face into a reluctant smile. The short walk from the train platform to the car is made frantic by the crowd; they wave at us, look us up and down appraisingly and make notes in little books. Cameras whirr around us and Cinder beams with delight "isn't it wonderful to be the pride of your District?"

I'd reply but I doubt he'd notice, he's lost in the glamour of fame, but Ebb mutters "if that's true then why don't you come along? Be the pride of the Capitol." I give an involuntary grin and Ebb has a wry smile when he catches my eye; I look away quickly, replaying Veera's threat in my mind, I need to get myself home and keep as much space between Ebb and I as possible.

An hour later and I'm already shouting in pain; a strange part of the Games is that my body must be totally hairless and the hair on my head must be sleek, smooth and styled. It hardly seems worth the effort since I am likely to be dead within a few days.

Later I meet my stylist, Issie; her hair is a jarring shade of green and curls down to her waist. She kisses me on the cheek and smiles brightly, "Delta! Your colouring is lovely, so pale…you look like a ghost!"

This seems like a strange compliment but I accept it graciously and let her run her fingers through my hair. "It's still quite dry, must be all the saltwater…now how are we going to make you stand out to all those rich sponsors?" she twists my hair in her fingers and begins to pin it to my head.

"Did last year's tributes get sponsors?" I ask

Issie nods "they did, but it was pooled with One and Two because they all stuck together in the arena…any ideas for your own strategy? Do you want a group?"

I try to shake my head but Issie pokes me with a hair grip so I keep still "I think I'm gonna stick it out on my own, try and hide out and survive that way."

"Fair enough" she powders my face and dabs glitter along my eyebrows "arms up…" Issie slides a dark blue dress over my head and fastens it behind me, "voila!"

I gasp when I look in the mirror; my pale skin and fair hair is a stark contrast to the inky blue of my dress. When I turn my head I glitter like the first light of dawn on the crest of the waves; I see what Issie meant now, I do look like some ethereal being. Perhaps I will be a siren, calling sponsors to me.

"Delta!" I come back to earth to see Cinder bearing down on me; he takes my hand and practically drags me along a network of tunnels until we emerge at a courtyard that stinks of horses. I see Ebb chatting away to the girl from District One; she is short and stocky, her hair is a deep red and I suspect it has been dyed even darker so it has undertones the colour of blood. She notices me and inclines her head, as if she wants me to walk over to them, but then Ebb murmurs something and she turns away from me.

Fine, screw them all; I wasn't planning on forming a group so why pretend? When Ebb takes his place by me on the chariot I keep my head high and my face expressionless. The Capitol crowd are much more animated than they were last year; they cheer and shower us with flower petals. The experience is surreal beyond compare and I can't understand why they want to pretend they care about us just to watch us die.

The horses stop at President Snow's mansion; he stands stiffly with the trace of a smile on his lips. Objectively he seems handsome, every inch the war hero and political star, but I know he is responsible for my predicament and he is the one who sat by and watched last year's tributes die.

"Citizens of Panem," President Snow's voice booms out of speakers all around me "we welcome the tributes of the Second Hunger Games! Enjoy the delights of the Capitol, prepare yourselves and know that you perform a great service for your District and for this wonderful nation."

The sun begins its slow descent to the horizon and the crowd goes crazy for us once more as our chariots depart and we return to the training centre.

I don't have time to take in my plush bedroom furnishings; I peel my dress from my sweat drenched skin and collapse, exhausted, onto the huge four-poster bed. My dreams do nothing to help my rest; I imagine myself in the arena from last year but a giant tidal wave engulfs the forest and the corpses of tributes drag me beneath the water.

In the morning I wipe gunk and glitter from my eyes, my cheeks are wet from tears or drool and my shoulders ache despite my comfortable bed. The shower is more complex than the one on the train but I manage to program the temperature and water pressure; the shampoo smells of basil and strawberries and I use a stiff brush to scrape the last of the glitter from my skin.

Cinder is already seated at the breakfast table, dressed in a garish yellow jumpsuit and a fur stole, he picks at half a grapefruit and motions that I should serve myself from the vast buffet on the sideboard. I ladle out a bowl of stew, thick with chicken, carrots and onions, and take the whole plate of bread rolls. After around ten minutes Issie appears in the doorway "still eating?" she asks incredulously "Ebb went down to the gym an hour ago!"

"What?!" Gravy dribbles down my chin and I spit out a piece of chicken. Training doesn't start until ten but, apparently, there are fitness machines tributes can use before-hand. I refuse to leave food uneaten so I end up giving myself a stomach ache by throwing it down my neck as quickly as possible and then changing into my skin tight training uniform.

I catch my breath in the lift down to the gymnasium and I feel a little better when I see that only Ebb and the tributes from One and Two have bothered to arrive early; everyone else turns up in dribs and drabs before ten o'clock. I want to be brave enough to join the early group and try out the running machines, but I end up just hanging around in the waiting area, trying to avoid eye contact with the other tributes.

Eventually, a tall woman with a toned figure and skin like smooth chestnut enters the room; she has a stern expression and a commanding voice. "My name is Presha and I will be overseeing your training over the next three days. No doubt you all saw the Games last year and you are eager to get your hands onto weapons or fire starting kits. Remember that you must not engage any other tribute in combat, there are attendants on hand who will spar with you, you must visit all the compulsory stations but the amount of time you spend at the optional stations is up to you."

I walk past the fishing station; the lures and rods make me ache for home but I know that I'm better served learning something new. The fire starting instructor is very kind but my attempts aren't great and it takes most of the first day to simply start a fire without using a match. Other tributes come and go; Ebb joins me briefly but shows no desire to strike up conversation and is called away by Dane, the hulking eighteen year old from District One, to throw some knives.

In the last hour of training I attempt the obstacle course and I seem to have a knack for it; my body bends around the blunted arrows that fire at me and I swing easily across a pool of water… though I land a little heavily on the other side. Presha nods her approval at my performance and I can't contain a tiny, smug smile; for once I feel there is something I'll be able to do to help myself.

That night I decide I don't want to eat with the others, so I take my huge portion of beef, apricots and fragrant rice into the television lounge. Issie joins me and we eat quietly, watching the television host interview Capitol citizens about their favourite tributes so far. Issie tries to initiate some conversation about training but I'm in no mood to chat, instead I say goodnight and excuse myself into my room. I lie stiffly in bed, terrified of the nightmares I am likely to have, but it seems that the exertion and stress of the day have left me too exhausted to dream and I drift into blackness.

The next day I try to revisit the fire lighting station but the instructor is swamped by the little tributes from Districts Eight and Nine; none of them could be more than thirteen years old and one seemed to be struggling with pain in her shoulder. They flutter, like little birds, around a newly glowing ember and smile nervously at each other. I wonder if they've decided to try to stick together. Instead I find myself at weapons training, swinging an axe with enthusiasm, at a dummy. A loud sneeze catches my attention and I break, sweating and panting, to see a collection of Capitol citizens watching me from the gallery above; Presha informs me that they will be ranking our performance and I remember the scores tributes received last year. I just hope my family see me get a decent score; I don't want them to count me out yet.

At lunch I eat alone; I take a huge baked potato topped with pulled pork to a bench and I spot a few little ones sitting together quietly, but almost everyone else has a wide space around them. Ebb and the strong ones from Districts One and Two are the exception; they look around the room, casting intimidating glances and discussing the likelihood of each tribute's violent demise.

That afternoon I listen to an instructor give advice about fighting off bears, wolves and other aggressive animals. Later I thank District Four for the near constant swimming I have done every day because we all have to take turns climbing the huge, moving wall at the back of the training floor; fortunately, my strong upper body keeps me going for ages and I feel energised.

My confidence is short-lived; next I must wrestle an attendant and I am felled far too quickly compared to the wiry boy from District Six and the stocky girl from District One. I stick with the hand-to-hand combat instructor and try to improve my technique but, before long, the bell rings to indicate that training is over and I have to leave.

I program my shower temperature to be as hot as I can stand it and the water comes out of the walls in pulsating waves to massage my sore muscles. My back aches and I consider just going straight to bed, but I know the smart move is to eat as much as possible before the start of the Games, so I order meats, cheeses and breads from the huge menu by my bed and stuff myself until I fall asleep on top of my bed covers.

The next morning I wake disorientated because someone has tucked me into bed and cleared the food waste from around me. An attendant catches my eye at breakfast and I wonder if it was her, but I'm not allowed to speak to them so I suppose I'll never know. I try to look grateful as she pours me my orange juice.

I feel full of trepidation as I enter the gym for the final time; there are so many things I haven't done yet and I don't have enough time to do everything today. My mind races with questions; should I go back to fire starting? Try shelter construction? Check out poisonous plants and berries?

I waste fifteen minutes panicking and the fire and shelter station fills up with nervous tributes; even the strong ones seem to be trying to muster some basic survival skills to complement their ability with weapons. I end up practising some basic snares and knots before spying a gap at the foraging station and sorting through a huge pile of leaves and insects.

At lunch I see attendants collecting tributes for their private session with the Game makers. It's not long before Ebb and I are called to the waiting area and I feel a rising wave of nausea that leaves me retching into a waste bin.

"Here," Ebb passes me a bottle of water but I shrug him away and take my own from the refreshment table.

"Don't do me any favours," I grunt "we're better off away from each other."

Suddenly he looks at me in earnest. "Really Delta? We've known each other for so long and this is how it ends for us?"

How can he be asking me this? "You've chosen your group! Besides, I'm sure your mother told you to poison my food or hobble me as soon as you have the chance."

"What? What does my mother have to do with anything?!" He stares at me with his false ignorance and I want to spit a hundred insults at him, but the door to the gymnasium opens and he is invited in for his session.

My fury at Ebb has given me a rush of adrenaline and I pace the room, waiting for my turn in front of the Game makers. When I am eventually let into the gymnasium I don't wait, I grab a short axe and chop the hell out of a mannequin until I am dripping from the exertion and my time is up.

I stalk back into the cafeteria and take a plate of lamb chops from the buffet table. Ebb eyes me nervously but I ignore him, finish my meal, and make my way back to training as soon as possible. My afternoon is spent gathering the basics of as many skills as possible; at the hunting station I learn to clean and gut a kill and, at the camouflage station, I weave vines and leaves together to make a net that would conceal my hiding figure. In the final hour of training I go back to the fire lighting station and, while I practise making a bow drill, he talks about how to keep a fire concealed. I try my best to drink all the information in but I know it's too much, I'll get into the arena and my mind will go blank from panic and lack of practice.

Eventually, the final bell sounds and we are told to go back to our living quarters. If I haven't learned what I'll need by now then I'll just have to manage on my wits and pray that a sponsor sends me some help.

I suddenly feel an aching exhaustion heavy on my shoulders and I want to crawl into my bed but Ebb pulls me aside in the dining room.

"Delta, please tell me what's happened with my mother?" He looks so sincere that I wonder if Veera's scaremongering wasn't part of his plan after all.

"Your mother told me not to hurt you is all. She knows you'll do what it takes to survive and so will I." I don't know why but I neglect to mention her threat to Poma and my parents.

Ebb's brow furrows, as if he suspects more of my altercation with Veera, but he doesn't push it. Instead we join Cinder, Issie and Saleem (Ebb's stylist) in the television lounge for the scores; the boy from District One, Dane, scores a ten and his District partner, Loi, scores eleven. The tributes from District Two also do well and both pull a ten; I hear Ebb whispering to Saleem, most is too quiet to hear but I know the word knives is mentioned a few times. Ebb is perched on the edge of his seat for his score announcement and, when he pulls a ten, I can see he is visibly relieved to have such a competitive score.

"Now the female tribute for District Four," the announcer smiles into the camera, "Delta Alongshore receives a score of…eight!"

Phew! Issie squeezes my shoulder and I give her a nervous smile, it's not the highest score but I'm not the strongest tribute. At least I have something to give my family hope and it might pique the interest of sponsors once I make it through the first day.

I don't know if it's the worry that tomorrow is my last day before the Games or the relief of having a good training score but I don't plunge straight into a deep sleep. Instead, I toss and turn before entering fitful dreams where the Game makers call me into the gymnasium and force me to stab Veera, but then her reanimated corpse rises and drags Poma back to the underworld with her.

Issie enters my room early the next morning with armfuls of clothes, apparently we're all being interviewed live on television tonight and I have to try everything on at least twice before she's satisfied with my 'look.'

"I'm marketing you to the sponsors," she explains "you're fairly strong and your skills around water may come in useful, so you're a good bet so far. We just need to make you unforgettable; I want the sponsors looking for you on camera right from the beginning."

We settle on a dress and, because I am left to my own devices for the rest of the day, I spend some time making polite talk with Cinder; I ask where he got his 'lovely' purple fringed sweater and whether he finds his role 'terribly stressful' but, once I'm satisfied I've curried enough favour, I make an excuse and retire to my room. I program the salt water setting into the shower and let it fill the bathtub almost to the brim and then I hold my breath and enjoy the peace of the water all around me. The bathtub is huge and there is room to stretch out my legs and arms and I imagine myself swimming away from the Games.

A Capitol employee collects me to get dressed for my interview, his name is Che and, when he moves, his face sparkles because of the crystals embedded into his cheeks.

"Did it hurt to have that done?" I ask as he towel dries my hair.

Che shrugs and replies "darling we must suffer to be beautiful. Would you like a little something? Nothing too drastic, perhaps a few jewels in your ears or a tattoo along your jawline?"

"No!" I exclaim quickly "thank you, I'll just stick to the make up for now."

He nods and busies himself with my nails. Issie enters the preparation room and begins to tug my hair into position while Che draws a pattern on my hand with a sticky, blue liquid.

An hour later I am allowed to look at myself and, I have to hand it to the strange Capitol workers, I am unforgettable. My dress is made of rich, black satin and my skin has been lightly sprayed with silver paint, the effect makes me look like the sea under a full moon. The sticky blue liquid on my hand has been wiped away to reveal a silvery design resembling strands of kelp surrounded by tiny fish. One side of my hair has been braided tightly to my head and the other side flows freely down to my shoulder.

"Well?" Issie asks with a smile "What do you think? I don't think anyone will forget you."

"Thank you" I tell her and I am truly grateful, my family will be so happy to see me looking strong and knowing they have hope gives me hope too.

We walk through a connecting tunnel to get to the television studio and I feel disheartened when I see all the other tributes gathered together. The common style themes of glitter, contrasting colours and crystals mean that I blend into the crowd more than I'd like, but Issie squeezes my arm and reassures me that I'll have my moment to set myself apart.

The host is a woman named Rhett; she has pastel blue hair and wears a pantsuit made of tiny mirrors. "Welcome everyone!" She greets the crowd and they go wild with delight, "welcome to what is sure to become a grand tradition of interviewing our brave tributes on their final night before the Hunger Games."

The questions seem to be fairly superficial. Dane is asked what his favourite meal so far in the Capitol has been and Loi is asked for her opinion on Capitol fashions. I sense that Rhett has been told to keep clear of controversial topics and anything that could prompt a tribute to discuss the rebellion.

Ebb wears a beautifully tailored navy suit and his shirt buttons are tiny, silver tridents. He looks ill at ease under the studio lights but he smiles for the crowd and I feel a tiny, burning pang of heartache. Our final interaction before the reaping was so awkward and then, after Veera's warning, I've had only suspicion and fear to guide me; what could we have been if the Games had never happened? Part of me always thought we'd at least remain friends.

A buzzer ends Ebb's time on the stage and I shake all thoughts of him from my body. Why think about a future that will never happen? The rebellion was real and the Games are real so that's where my head needs to be.

The audience is a strange mixture of garish colour and I could swear that one woman is totally naked except for a coating of purple paint across her whole body and three triangles of glittery material keeping her modesty.

"Well it would seem we have something in common" Rhett tells me with a smile and a raised eyebrow, "We both look as if we have risen from the depths. Though you look a lot fresher, ha!" The audience chortles at her self-deprecating humour and I give a polite chuckle "Rhett you look fresh as the morning's flotsam."

The crowd claps and Rhett plants a kiss on my cheek; the rest of the interview flies by and I profess my love for the Capitol's adventurous sense of style, delicious food and courteous people. The buzzer sounds and I get an encouraging round of applause, I dip a tiny curtsey to the crowd and try to ignore my racing heartbeat as I walk back to my chair.

Back in my sleeping quarters, Issie undoes my hairstyle and I massage my sore scalp, she orders me some hot, buttered toast and a cup of warm milk. I hate the Capitol for creating the Games but I appreciate the care Issie has shown me.

"Was it hard, last year, watching your tribute die?" I ask nervously

Issie dabs my cheek with solvent to clear away the skin paint and I hear a slight catch in her voice when she replies "yes, she did well to survive as long as she did but there was nothing she could've done about the infection. I still think she should have killed the others when they slept."

I don't know what to say to this expression of sadness mixed with violence so I stay quiet and sip my drink. Eventually I am alone, clean and tucked into bed; my thoughts become hazy and, while I remember Issie adding sugar and cinnamon to my drink, I wonder if she added anything else? I don't get to wonder for long because I drift into a dreamless sleep.

Then, suddenly, Cinder is at my door and I am roused into the shower. I can tell he's stressed because he programs the shower to be freezing cold and ignores my protests at being bundled into it roughly.

I am still eating when I get to the hovercraft; the huge ship brings back terrible memories of the rebellion and, when I look around, I see other tributes feel the same way. A tracking device is implanted, painfully, into my arm and wonder if there was a problem with the bracelets used by the tributes last year.

Hours later I am taken to an underground room where Issie greets me with my outfit for the Games; the trousers are tan in colour and the material is fairly loose but a good, sturdy leather belt holds them in place at my waist. I also have a beige vest, loose shirt and a tan jacket with peaked hood; finally I have a large, beige scarf which I wrap around my neck.

My boots are a little cumbersome, I'm not used to heavy footwear, but Issie says the thick, rubber sole is a clue that the ground won't be smooth for running; not great considering my plan is to dive in for supplies then get out of there.

"Ok…that's it then," Issie sits on one of the little chairs and I sit beside her, taking sips from a bottle of water to steady my nerves.

There's nothing more to say so we stay silent, in my mind I revisit the advice of the instructors and try to imagine myself creating a bow drill for fire or tying a snare knot. A clipped, formal voice from a hidden speaker makes me jump, "launch imminent, all tributes please stand on the launch pad."

Issie shakes my hand and I stand on the metal circle in the centre of the room. No more time to prepare, the Games have begun.


	4. Chapter 4: Surviving the First Day

A warm, steady breeze blows around me and a bead of sweat forms on my brow, making me glad I tied up my hair. The landscape is dry and hot; a green/brown scrubland stretches out in front of me for miles, to my right it falls away, steeply, into a valley deep enough that I cannot see the ground, to my left is an ornate golden cornucopia statue and I can see strange trees in the distance behind it. My fellow tributes and I stand in a triangular formation on our podiums; behind me is the black haired boy from District Seven and the tributes from District Eleven flank me at my sides.

The countdown timer indicates we have thirty seconds left and I look around hoping that, same as last year, the Game makers will have left us supplies.

Yes! I can see a machete; it's so close I could almost reach down and grab it, other supplies lie on the ground but I can't see any water or food, it must be in the mouth of the cornucopia. The buzzer goes and a voice signals the start of the Games, I'm out of time and I want that weapon! I dart forwards and my hand is around the machete handle almost immediately; worried that someone else might try to take it I whirl it around in an arc, fortunately, no-one is currently paying me any attention. I sprint forwards and hack wildly with my arm outstretched as the tall girl from District Three reaches to the ground for something; I can't see what it is, but if she thinks it looks useful then I want it too. She leaps back to avoid my swipes then suddenly drops heavily to the ground and I see her target was a grey, satchel style backpack. The girl's jaw is slack and blood is spreading from a spear wound in her chest, I spin around and see the District One boy; he is stood at the cornucopia hefting a spear and picking his next target. I need to get away from here; whatever is in this backpack will have to be enough for now. I turn on my heel and run quickly; my boot catches on the outstretched leg of a body but I don't have time to look at the face, the District Two girl, Loi, is bearing down on me with an axe. The blade hits the ground next to my head and I spin away from it, springing to my feet and brandishing my machete. Loi hacks at me again, knocking my weapon from my hand, she's strong but shorter than me and I use the flat of my palm to hit her in the face. She stumbles a little and gives me enough time to scoop up the machete and run. I don't want to run past Loi into the trees and the scrubland doesn't offer any camouflage for miles so I turn and sprint downhill, into the canyon.

At first I see tributes everywhere, all with a wild look in their eyes and all totally ignoring my existence, these tributes want to run and that's fine with me!

I trip and tumble downwards, pulling my arms over my head and praying I don't decapitate myself with my new weapon. I land heavily on my tailbone but, thankfully, I haven't really hurt myself and I seem to have left the other tributes behind. The heat is climbing so I take off my jacket, tie it around my waist, and push on; jogging, walking and looking for signs of water. The steep hill evens out and I find myself walking through a wide valley with sandy soil and strange, spikey bushes and trees. The sun climbs higher and I pull part of my scarf over my head, I don't want to get sunburn on my scalp and it'll soak up some of my sweat. The cannon begin to sound around midday, tributes must have picked apart the supplies to have battled on for so long; I count the bangs and deduce that eight tributes have died already. I want to keep walking, keep looking for a permanent water source, but I'm desperate to know whether there's anything remotely useful in my backpack. I swing it off my shoulder and stand still for a moment as I explore the contents; a roll of clear, plastic film, three small water bottles, woollen blanket and a tin box containing a stitching kit and bandages.

I knew the pack wasn't heavy enough to hold water but I'm still disappointed that I can't immediately quench my growing thirst. The exposed skin on my hands begins to itch so I thrust them into my jacket pockets and look out, dejectedly, at the horizon. A scurrying sound makes me jump but it's just a small lizard, I creep towards it and stab it through the top of the head.

There's not much meat on it and I haven't got a cooking fire, but it's been hours since my last meal so I use the tip of my machete to cut out the guts and then tear at the raw flesh with my teeth. The blood keeps my lips wet and the chewing is a good distraction from my growing thirst, unfortunately I've lost a lot of water in sweat and my head is starting to ache.

By late afternoon I am stumbling with weariness and thirst. I find a small patch of shade against a rock face and sit down; I push my hands into the sand and, for a second, I feel something damp. There is a hollow at the base of the boulder and the soil is drenched with water; with rising excitement I realise it must be a spot never reached by the sun's rays. For a moment I sit, fidgeting, wondering how to extract the water from the sand and then I take off my jacket and shirt and inspect them. The jacket is lightweight but the fabric is tightly woven whereas my shirt is made of breathable linen so I put the jacket back on, over my vest, and then begin scooping handfuls of wet sand into my shirt. Next, I put one of the water bottles on the floor; they're an unusual shape, squat with a wide neck, but it suits my purpose perfectly. I gather my shirt around the wet sand and squeeze with all my might until drips appear and begin to fill my water bottle; I'm so happy that I find reserves of energy to repeat the process over and over until I have half a bottle of sandy water. I glug it down greedily, it's gritty and disgusting but it tastes like survival.

The sun begins to set and the sky is streaked beautifully with reds, oranges and golds. I have drunk goodness knows how much gritty water, I just kept grabbing more and more sand, but it's not enough to replace the water I've used up during the day. The temperature is falling rapidly and I fish out my blanket and wrap it around my shoulders, leaning my head against the rock face.

A trumpet sounds and the Capitol seal appears in the sky followed by the faces of those who haven't made it through the first day; the girl from District Three, the girl from Five, the boy from Six, both from Eight, both from Nine and the boy from Ten. Other than the District Three girl that I grappled with this morning, the rest are all little ones, I tell myself it's kinder that they died now rather than having to suffer the arena. The face of the District Ten boy is hard to see, I remember watching his reaping and he reminded me of Poma.

I shiver and think of my family; are they watching me now? What do they think of my chances? As the night draws in the air becomes even colder, how is it possible that somewhere so hot during the day can be so cold at night?

A flicker in the distance suggests that at least one tribute was smart enough to get a fire going. The hollow at the base of the boulder is now letting a cold wind through and it whips around me; I shift position to a flatter portion of the rock and fold my scarf around my face, leaving only my eyes uncovered, my stomach rumbles and I feel a little nauseous from swallowing sand but my body is weary and I somehow drift into sleep.


	5. Chapter 5: Getting Sponsors

It's dark and freezing cold when I wake; I can't have slept more than a couple of hours but the cut-off scream in the distance ensures I am immediately alert. I hear something else, not quite a roar but definitely the noise of an animal and then the cannon to signify that another tribute has died. I keep perfectly still and look out at the campfire I noticed earlier, the flames are low now but they throw off enough light to show shadows stalking around a spot on the ground. I struggle to decide on the shape of the animals from this distance, and I'm glad that they're some way off, but I tighten my grip on the machete and try to keep track of the shadows until they disappear.

I want to get moving before the heat of the day hits me and, as much as I hate the thought of being caught out by predators, I have to assume that the animals I was watching will go towards water. They stalked off westwards over an hour ago; this gives me a heading and, with any luck, enough space between us to prevent me from encountering them.

My stomach howls and I scold myself for thinking of the meals I had in the Capitol; I can't afford to go soft now, plus those meals mean I have some leeway before my quest for food becomes desperate. I finish the last few mouthfuls of sandy water from my bottle and store it back away in my bag, I need to find a permanent water source today or the heat will kill me before any tribute can get close. The breeze becomes warmer as the sun peeks up over the horizon; the sky is staggeringly beautiful and the deep blue is mixed with streaks of orange and long, puffy, white clouds. A strange tree punctuates the landscape and I walk close enough to inspect one, wondering if it's a sign of nearby water. The tree is a little taller than me with huge green leaves growing vertically from the top of the trunk and long, dead leaves hanging downwards. Atop the tree is a vertical cluster of curved fruit and I cut it down easily; when I peel the husk away there is wonderful sweet smell and I can barely contain my joy as I bite into it. Then I notice the dewdrops on the leaves of the tree; I lick them off and enjoy the clean wetness on my tongue, moving to other trees to get more moisture and cut down more fruit. By the time the sun is fully up my pack is heavy with fruit but I need a real drink, the heat is already uncomfortable and the remaining sand in my shirt itches me as I walk.

I use the trees as a guide and hike further west; I am heading down hill again but I'm happy to see lizard trails in the dust, they have to drink something so surely water cannot be far away. Brick-red mountains are far off in the distance and, as the hours pass, rock formations on either side of me grow into tall hills. My lips are cracked and I feel dizzy, the boom of a cannon makes me jump but the sound is fuzzy in my ears, as if it's not quite real. Something white hits my foot and I have to really concentrate for a moment before I realise…it's a sponsor parachute! It must be water!

I'm so excited when I pick up the parachute that I very nearly open the little bottle and chug down the contents before I realise there's barely enough for a mouthful. Why has Issie sent me this? I'm just about to smash the stupid bottle and give up when I notice the ripples in the ground ahead of me, I'd dismissed them as heat waves or hallucinations, but anger fuelled adrenaline has given me enough sense to see its water! Barely an inch or two high it covers a wide area of the ground; I stumble forwards through the brush, find where the trickle meets the rocks and pull at the stones to find a small, underground spring.

My body doesn't have enough water to make tears but my breath catches in my throat and I start emitting a guttural, sobbing sound. I scoop the water into my hands, washing it over my face and luxuriating in the coolness, but I stop short of drinking it; my wits are returning and I realise Issie must have sent me the bottle to purify the water. She must've known how close to the spring but I still feel bitter that she didn't send me at least a cup of water to keep me sane.

The sun nearly reaches its peak as I wait for my water to purify. I have no way of judging the time other than to count to sixty over and over again; my attention is so focussed on the three bottles that even the weakest tribute could take this opportunity to stab me in the back. I run my fingers along the sides of a bottle and trace my lips with the condensation. I can't wait any longer and I take a long drink of the first bottle; the cool liquid leaves an ice cold trail down my throat and the shock makes me clutch my head in pain. I recover and drink the rest of the water more carefully, allowing myself a few sips at a time and allowing my body to adjust to being hydrated. Another sponsor gift makes my afternoon even more pleasant; somewhere around my sixth bottle of water a parachute arrives attached to a large tube of cream. I recognise the smell, during the hot summer months in District Four my father would buy barrier cream to stop him getting burned by the sun while he worked on the fishing boats. I rub the cream into the back of my neck and hands, and through my hair onto the top of my head. By late afternoon I feel almost human again; the cool water combined with the effect of the barrier cream has regulated my body temperature in the heat of the day and I have happily eaten six of the curved fruits I took from the trees. A part of me feels better simply because I have sponsors, and I think I understand why Issie didn't send me water to keep me going; I had to find the spring and prove I could survive to get the Capitol citizens behind me.

The evening air will soon be upon me and I refocus to my next problem; where can I get some shelter? The night was so cold that I'd rather have a fire but, if I can't have that, then I at least want something to shield me from the wind and hide me from predators. I try to think for a moment; I could carry on hiking, following the water course, and hope I find trees thick enough to provide shelter but I could end up following a river an inch high for miles just to end in a dry riverbed with no more protection than I have here. Racking my brains I think back to the shelter construction station at the training centre; I never got to try it because it was so busy with other tributes. I did see tributes at the station building with sticks and leaves but I don't think that would help me much here, the trees don't have long sticks and there's nowhere to lean a shelter to anyway. I kick at the ground with my boot thoughtfully; it's mainly dirt, quite compact and there's a lot of rock and sand in it. I refill my bottles from the spring but then I retrace my steps towards the east for about an hour until the ground becomes sandy again. Grunting with effort, and stopping often to check the horizon for tributes and animals, I begin to dig a trench. I have good arm muscles but the digging makes me weary, when I think the trench is deep enough for me to lie down I start to pack the excavated sand around three sides of the hole and then I remove a bit more from the fourth side so I have a place to crawl inside. Next I unroll the plastic wrapping from my rucksack and create a makeshift roof for my trench and I secure them with some handy, medium sized rocks. A noise makes me jump and I dive for my machete but it's only the fanfare and Capitol seal. Two deaths today; the girl from Six and the boy from Eleven, I wonder who died at the hands of the animals and what killed the other one?

The exertion of digging has kept me warm but I know the temperature will soon drop much colder so I hurry to finish my shelter. I want to camouflage my trench but I don't want to put anything too heavy on the plastic sheet or it will collapse; I harvest some of the dry grass which grows in clumps and scatter it over the sheet with a small amount of sand. Tiredness hits me in the face with an iron bar and I know sleep will soon come whether I want it to or not; I shuffle on my belly through my little shelter's opening and manage to manoeuvre myself onto my back, with my blanket over my front and my machete in my hand, before I fall asleep.


	6. Chapter 6: Don't Get Comfortable

There is water on my face when I wake up; the sun has been up for at least an hour and my woollen blanket has left me dripping with sweat. Furthermore there is condensation dripping from the plastic roof of my shelter and it leaves a lukewarm trail across my forehead.

I resist the urge to just push upwards and free myself from this sticky trench and keep enough sense to crawl out of my shelter and glance around the landscape for potential attackers. The desert morning is bright and hot but there doesn't seem to be anyone around; I emerge and stretch, wiping the sweat from the small of my back. My fingers rub over raised bumps on my skin, I can't see what they are but they itch like crazy so I assume something in the sand was biting me. Tonight I'll put something down on the floor. I drink my last bottle of water and rub some barrier cream into my skin, I rub it into my rash and it quells some of the itching for a while. For a moment I wonder how I look, only a couple of days ago I was an ethereal beauty, now my pale skin is a light pink from the sun.

The trek to the spring is uneventful and, though my back aches and I feel disgustingly greasy from sweat, I feel better for having slept and I have enough plastic wrapping to re-create my trench each night for at least a week. I fill, purify and immediately drink all three bottles of water then I refill and purify them again and store them in my bag. My stomach growls and I eat a piece of fruit; they aren't in short supply but I wish I had something else to really fill me and I'm worried that an all-fruit diet will start to give me other problems. Perhaps I'd naively hoped that a sponsor would think my little shelter was worth another gift. My stomach churns for something to fill it but I'm not hungry enough to be tempted away from my spring; I decide to have one more day here, hydrating myself, then I'll follow the path of the water for a couple of hours and see where I end up. I hike towards another clump of trees and begin cutting down more fruit; I eat a couple but I wish I had something salty or dense to satisfy me. The long, green tree leaves intrigue me and I cut a few down; they're fibrous but very stiff and I decide they'll be a useful addition to my shelter so I begin the laborious task of dragging them back to the spring. I stop for a moment and cut one leaf slightly smaller than my head and thread it through my hair until the end shades my eyes from the noonday sun without obscuring my view ahead. At the spring I drink and refill my water again; I wonder if my family are watching me now. I think they feel hopeful that I've found a source of water, food and a way to stay warm overnight.

I build my shelter in the afternoon, taking care to lay some long leaves down on the floor and to camouflage the plastic so that it blocks out much of the sunshine. I take care to choose a spot between two large sand dunes which should provide additional shade and camouflage. When the Capitol seal appears in the sky (no deaths today) I am hungry, sandy and aching but, with my hand gripping my machete firmly, I feel safe enough to sleep.

The quake happens sometime before dawn and, when I jump upright, I wrap myself in the shelter's plastic roof and almost suffocate. Tearing at the plastic wrapping, I throw my backpack over my shoulders and look behind me where the sand is being sucked into a widening hole in the ground. I stumble backwards, not quite frozen in fear but unable to move quickly, as I try to process what's happening. A sucking sound to my left indicates a new hole and I feel a tremor at my feet that causes me to break into a run; the sucking noise seems to follow me and more holes open up, some inches from my feet. This is beginning to feel less than natural and I suspect I am being forced out of my comfort zone before I become too boring for the Capitol to watch. A sucking hiss surprises me and I trip over, rolling forwards and landing on my front, at my heel a hole opens up and I am left scrabbling at the pouring sand, desperate to avoid being drawn underground. My fingers can't get a grip on the soft ground and I can feel cold air from whatever abyss I am being pulled into; finally, my fingertips find a clump of long grass which is rooted outside of the hole, and I use it to clamber back up onto the ground. My chest burns from fear but I can't give myself a moment to rest and I sprint, westwards, dodging the pits opening up around my feet. Eventually, the holes stop appearing but the hissing noise continues; I see the pits are sealing themselves, and the warm wind blows enough sand to conceal the entrances so that I could pretend they were never there at all.

I rest with my back to a tree and get myself ready for the day, drink half a bottle of water, rub on my barrier cream, cut another green leaf into a hat and thread it through my hair. The sun is rising behind me and I look around, confused, I've been this far west before but something about the landscape is different. With growing horror I kick the muddy ground and realise that my spring, my lifeline, has disappeared. The panic makes me want to vomit and I taste bile in the back of my throat. I'm going to die; they've done this to kill me. I suddenly feel incredibly thirsty, as if I haven't had a drink my whole time in the arena, and I put my head in my hands…I wonder if the cameras are watching me now.

Last year, tributes were put through their paces with wild animals, storms and trees that fired arrows; each time the presenters would discuss the emotional reaction of the tributes- told us who was weakest or strongest. If there are cameras on me now then I won't let them see the panic I feel. I had sponsors before so I can get them again; I just need to show them I'm worth betting on. Fixing my face into what I hope is a neutral expression; I get to my feet, grip my machete tightly and think for a moment. Dehydration would've killed a lot more tributes by now if there was no more water in the arena. So where have they got their water from? There was probably water in the cornucopia but I don't know if I can get back there before my water runs out, plus I'd rather not run into Ebb and his friends. I decided to carry on walking westwards and hope to find another watercourse similar to the spring.

I have to move my bowels and my face burns with shame at the thought of this intimate moment being transmitted across Panem; this is compounded by the pain in my stomach from the amount of fruit I have eaten over the last two days. I want to show my determination but I feel so despondent that I pull my leaf hat further over my eyes and keep my head low; I'm looking for signs of water but I also don't dare show my face in case the audience sees my dejection.

After two hours I allow myself to drink half a bottle of water; the landscape still looks bare but the ground is getting rockier and the cliffs each side of me change colour and become streaked with horizontal orange and beige lines. I can see more and more greenery; trees and grasses become thicker and more vivid in colour and then I hear the sound of rushing water. It's louder than a spring and, despite the noon heat, I break into a jog until the flowing river comes into view. I crawl the last few feet towards it on my hands and knees and I flop my arms into the water; it looks about waist high and I want to wade straight in. Then I hear the voices; they're quiet at first but they get louder and I jump to my feet just as I see the boy from District Seven crash through the sparse trees, closely followed by Ebb and the tributes from One and Two.

I curse under my breath and look for some kind of hiding place; the landscape is so flat that I have little hope of finding somewhere to cover me. A scream and a cannon indicates that the District Seven boy is dead and then I see Dane, the District One boy, point at me and shout to the others.

Instinctively I dive into the water, the current is fast and my backpack is heavy, but my swimming stroke is confident and I pull myself to the other side of the water quickly. I know Ebb will be able to follow me just as fast but I hope the water slows the others down. I run along the rocky embankment and throw a quick glance over my shoulder; Ebb is swimming steadily across the river but the others are wading out slowly. I dart across the rocky embankment; I can't keep running forever, the landscape is too flat and offers little concealment. I need somewhere to hide while they're occupied by the water. A gap between boulders in the cliff face looks promising and I remove my backpack to ease myself into the space; I shuffle until I end up in a three foot wide space encircled by rock.

"She's here!" Loi, the District One girl, shouts; she runs past my hiding place, followed by the others, no one sees me but they know I can't have gone far. I hold the machete outstretched, trembling a little. I see the back of the District Two boy, "maybe she crossed back over the river," he says as he shades his eyes to look over the opposite embankment.

Dane's sandy-haired head comes into view; his blue eye peers into my hiding gap and I don't even think about it, I just stab. He screams and holds his head as blood pours through his fingers, alerting the others to my presence. The District Two girl stabs her spear into the gap, I try to knock it away with my machete but she catches me a nasty cut on my wrist and pushes forwards through the space. I back up and look for another escape path; there's another crack in the cliff face and I can feel fresh, cold air through it. The District Two girl is almost upon me so I decide to risk it and throw my back pack through the crack, then I dive through it and pull myself into the space. Pain shoots through my left leg and feel hands on me but I kick out and my boot makes contact with, what I hope, is the face of my attacker. The push sends me falling through a hole and I hit what feels like water with an icy, stinging slap to my face. The dark is terrifying and I can't tell if I'm swimming up or down, the current is strong and my face scrapes along rough stone; then something hits my head and there is only blackness.


	7. Chapter 7: Washed Up

It's dark when I awake. For a moment I think I am back on the beaches of District Four with the waves lapping at my legs and the sand on my cheek; but I can't smell salt or fish in the air. I try to sit up but the world whooshes past my eyes and I end up on my back. Despite the darkness I can see blood on the sand and the pain…the pain is all-consuming.

I vomit water and bile but I don't attempt to sit up again; I just lie there shivering and drifting in and out of consciousness for hours. I hope they find me. I hope I die.

No-one finds me and I awake once more, properly, in the warm sunshine of morning. I can sit without going dizzy but my body aches all over and I take stock of my injuries; my lips are swollen, there is a long graze running down the length of my face and a gash at the back of my head. All are painful but, thanks to the water, all seem to be clean of debris. I attempt to flex my hands but a sharp pain tells me I have broken the fourth finger on my right hand; I can find a way to strap it to my middle finger so that's not too serious. The slash to my leg is clean, I think the District Two girl speared me as I tried to escape, but it is very deep and needs to be closed with stitches. My backpack has washed up twenty feet away and I claw my way to it, dragging my injured leg behind me so it doesn't get full of sand or dirt.

The backpack is sodden but most of my supplies have survived; I find my water purification drops safely rolled in the wet, woollen blanket and shuffle down to the water's edge to fill my two surviving water bottles. I find my tin box and nearly cry with relief when I see the stitching kit is intact; I might not die today after all!

Whilst I wait for the water to purify I use the remains of strong, green leaf to strap my fingers together and then take in my surroundings. I have washed up on the bank of a long river which stretches out of caves and winds for as far as I can see through the mountains that surround it. The temperature is much cooler here than where I was before and I can see there are more fruit trees and scrub bushes dotting the surrounding landscape. The vegetation is much thicker and, looking at the position of the sun, I wonder if I have ended up near the trees I saw by the cornucopia on day one.

I think the water is safe now so I dribble it down my leg wound and work up the courage to begin stitching. I pinch the skin at the middle of the wound together and perform my first suture; the pain is intense and takes my breath away, but somehow I manage to put another six stitches into the cut without passing out again.

I drink the other bottle of water and pull the squished remains of my stored fruit from my bag; I eat as much of it as I can and scoop the remaining sandy, fruit mush from the bottom of the backpack and eat that too. Then I swish my backpack around in the river to clean it and leave it to dry in the sun. I want to stand but my attempts are pathetic and I can't keep my balance for more than a few seconds. Trying to hide my pain I lie back on the ground, acting as if I want to drink more and rest awhile; I apply barrier cream to my exposed skin and then sit quietly.

Something rustles in the trees; I look for my weapon then realise I haven't found it since washing up on the beach. I grab some of the larger, nearby rocks and start to throw them in the direction of the noise, hoping to scare off an animal, but I can see the shape of a human through the thin trees.

It's Ebb. He emerges from the vegetation looking tired, tanned and underfed but still much stronger than me. When he looks at me he hangs his head and sighs heavily, he must be disappointed that I am not already dead, now he has to kill me himself.

Well, I won't make this easy for him, I won't be a faceless death.

"Hi." My voice sounds strange, this is the first fully-formed word I have spoken in days and it could well be my last. "Where are your friends?" I ask.

"We split up to look for you last night." He replies calmly. "Delta I'm sorry…"

"That you have to kill me?" I growl "well I don't forgive you."

Ebb shakes his head and huffs, stabbing his sword into the ground and refusing to look at me "run…please…run."

Tears prick my eyes and a sob catches in my throat. "Ebb, I can't even stand. Just…if you're going to do this…do it now."

He bears down on my quickly, sword in hand and a glazed expression, I close my eyes but nothing happens and I feel him skid to a halt next to me. When I look up I see him offering his hand, "Come on" he says "get up."

"What are you doing?" I ask, unwilling to take his hand.

"Just…come on." Ebb hooks his arm under my own and helps me to my feet, taking my weight and steadying me. "I'll take you somewhere you can rest then I'll go back to the others. I'll say I couldn't find you."

I limp along with him; he grabs my backpack, swings it over his shoulder alongside his own and we make our way through the trees.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask

"You know why." He replies simply, and I do know; we're not strangers, its one thing to kill someone from your District but another to kill the person you've seen almost every day of your life. I think of Veera's threat to me in the Justice building and I wonder what my parents would do if they had to see my murderer in the market for the rest of their lives.

Progress is slow and we don't really talk but I ask him what happened after I escaped into the underground river.

"Everyone assumed you'd die," he replies. "We knew the river was fast and the others don't swim so they thought it would kill you. We had to stop awhile because of Dane's eye; you slashed him right across it and he's had to bandage over it."

I nearly fall as Ebb suddenly stabs at something in the ground, there's a small squeak and a crunch.

"Scorpion" he says by way of explanation.

I nod; glad I haven't had an insect problem so far. "How many more deaths have there been?"

"Just the boy from Seven. We waited for your cannon but, when it didn't come, we split up to search the river. They're further downstream where it's shallower."

We stay quiet and keep going; I'm surprised how close together the trees are and there are even a few new species that are taller with needles that give off a fresh, pleasant scent.

"It's so much cooler here." I comment.

Ebb nods "We noticed the arena gets hotter the further out from the river you go. It's probably their way of keeping us all close together."

It's a clever tactic, tributes would move themselves out of the heat to survive and then come face-to-face with each other; no wonder they forced me out of the sandy desert. With my spring, fruit supply and rough shelter I could've survived there for at least a week without seeing anyone else.

We come to a halt at a seemingly sheer rock face and Ebb points at a small crack about six feet up.

"You can't see from this angle but it's actually a cave entrance. I was chased by this strange cat-dog animal a couple of days ago and I hid there."

He tries giving me a leg up but I'm practically in tears with pain and he gets more and more frustrated with me until he heaves himself up into the gap, lies on his belly and holds his hands down for me. I can see now what he means; the crack in the rock is diagonal and, from here, it looks like his whole body has been cut in half by the mountain, if he shuffled backwards he would be totally hidden. It's a strange trick of perception and, I have to admit, very clever of him to have found.

I grab his arms and he pulls me by my elbows, I swing into the rock and skin my knees but I'm soon pulled into a small cave.

"Thank you Ebb, I know you didn't have to do this, I'm sorry I was so awful to you before this began." "Why was that?" he asks "what did my mother really say to you?"

I don't know why I tell him; I didn't want to before the Games, I think I wanted to preserve the people we were, neighbours and friends. Now…we are different people and, for sparing me, I owe him the truth.

"Veera told me she would kill my whole family, and me, if I did anything to hurt you during the Games."

Ebb shakes his head and rubs his jaw but then, surprisingly, he laughs. "Delta, your mother came to see me with the same message. She walked in, slapped me across the face and told me she would gut me if I hurt you to come home."

For a moment I'm speechless, then I'm laughing hard; it hurts my stomach and there are tears in my eyes but I can't stop. I wonder if our parents are watching us now, stood together in the square, listening to our conversation on the huge viewing screens. Two women that love us so much they threatened to kill the other's child.

I take some water from my backpack, drink and then offer the bottle to Ebb. He drinks deeply then searches his own bag for some meat wrapped in plastic wrapping and offers it to me.

"Here, its tortoise." He says and I tear huge chunks off it gratefully.

We sit in an awkward, post-laughter, silence; eating, drinking and thinking of home in the fading light.

"You should go back to them." I tell him, "Thank you for doing this but we both know that only one person gets to go home." A cannon fires in the distance, as if to prove my point.

"Twelve left…including us." Ebb says quietly and, for a moment, I think he'll stay. "Here," he pulls supplies from his bag for me; two large bottles of water, more wrapped meat, a pouch of grain and some clean bandages. Then, finally, he takes a large knife from the side pouch of his bag and hesitates slightly before handing it to me. When I don't immediately stab him to death he gives a small, wry smile and disappears.

The seal appears in the sky and I see the image of the Girl from District Eleven. My picture should be up there, dead at the hands of the strong tributes, but I'm alive. Today, I feel lucky.


	8. Chapter 8: Bug Problem

I sleep fitfully in short spells; part of me thinks Ebb might return with the others to kill me. In a strange way, a small part of me wishes he would return just so I wouldn't have to be alone anymore.

The temperature isn't unbearably hot but I still need to be careful with my water, so I only allow myself about a cupful every couple of hours. What day is it? How long have I even been here? Five days? Six? It feels like the reaping was months ago but, at the same time, only yesterday.

My stitches itch but they look to be healing well and I apply a fresh bandage, indulge in some of the wrapped meat (it'll only spoil in the heat anyway) and try to avoid accidentally biting my swollen lips and cheek. The day ticks away slowly and I try to rest as much as I can, but I ache all over and the large, purple bruises make it difficult to sit comfortably.

In the afternoon I hear a cannon fire; I sit still and my heart thuds in my chest as footsteps run close below me and the sound of panicked screams is loud in the air. I wonder if its Ebb chasing someone down, whoever it is finds their prey because the cannon fires again an hour later.

When the sky darkens, I peak around the edge of my hideout to see the projected faces of both tributes from District Twelve. I wonder if they were hiding together, it must be nice to trust someone that much; Ebb and I don't have that. When he spared me and brought me to this cave he was giving me a chance because of the threat from my mother and maybe because of the friendship we've shared in the past, but I'm not foolish enough to believe it could carry on to the end. How many tributes need to die for him to give up my hiding place to the others? The tributes from One and Two will be waiting for my cannon, no doubt they think I'm dying of infection somewhere just out of sight, but soon they'll want to find me. Ebb wants me gone at someone else's hands and he wants to get out of here as soon as possible so why not tell them where I am, and then kill them once I'm dead?

I'll move back towards the river in the morning; I imagine the strong ones will be happy enough with two kills to take the pressure off tonight. I split the last of my water between two bottles, reserve one for drinking and then mix the little bag of grain into the other. The resulting mush is cold and bland but it feels good in my stomach and the comfort it brings allows me to sleep.

My dreams are flooded with the ocean; I am swimming, diving and turning in the water, rejoicing in the waves. I try to reach the surface but something stops me, an invisible barrier that keeps me under until I am struggling to breathe. My eyes open in the darkened arena and I can taste something bitter and stringy across my mouth; I try to reach up to free myself but my arms won't move.

Fear and bile rise in my throat as my eyes adjust to the gloom. Two shapes move around in front of me; they look like some kind of large spider, a body the shape of a disc and roughly two feet in diameter with eight long legs. These spiders don't seem natural; even if I ignore the abnormal size, I've never seen a spider rear up on four legs and click to its partner, as if having a conversation about their prey. One of them crawls slowly up my leg, its footsteps are light but they feel like tiny needle pricks through the material of my trousers. It reaches my shoulder and looks me over with a cluster of beady eyes; I can see that its mouth is located on the underside of its body and it rears backwards to expose it, producing a sticky string-like substance that it proceeds to wrap around my shoulders.

Trying to dislodge the creature, I shake my head but the other spider hisses at me and scuttles up the rock to poke my face with its spiny legs. When I stop shaking and remain still the spider moves away and takes up a kind of sentry position at the entrance of my cave.

I keep my head totally still and try to ignore the creature creeping across my face; instead I work on freeing my body by shuffling back against the rough surface of the rock behind me. The web-like strands begin to snap and both spiders are alerted to my escape attempt; they lunge at me, hissing, and covering me in sharp, stinging bites. I punch one squarely in the body with my right fist and then rip the string from my face, gulping air in huge gasps. Needle prick footsteps crawl up my spine and I slam myself back into the cave wall; I am rewarded with a loud crack and the drip of slime down the neck of my shirt. The other spider squeals at me and throws itself forwards but it is too late, I can see the knife Ebb left me and I stab it upwards, skewering the creature inches from my face.

Slime drips down my arm but I remain frozen in position until a clicking sound brings me back to reality; I put my ear to the cave wall and imagine how many spiders could be living within this mountain, the thought makes me shiver and I gather my few belongings into the backpack as quickly as possible.

The short climb down to the ground is uncomfortable but not overly painful; I hike at a steady pace but I don't want to risk tearing my stitches so I keep from jogging, this is a challenge because my skin crawls with disgust at the slime dribbling down my back and right arm. I reach the river mid-morning and wade straight in without a second thought; I strip off my jacket, shirt and trousers and bathe until my skin stops crawling and I feel clean again. The water is cool and I take the chance to rinse my hair and wash the grease and scabs from my face. I splash to the far bank and spread my clothes across some large boulders to dry; the air is warming fast and I smear barrier cream across my clean skin and scalp. I refill my water bottles, purify the contents and pull the rest of the wrapped tortoise meat from my pack. Now I'm near the river I have more chance of finding food; I can easily make a fishing line from my stitching kit and the last of the tortoise will be useful as bait, but I think it would be a good idea to hike awhile and get away from the area where Ebb found me.

I walk further upstream and the change in temperature is palpable; I must be moving away from the cornucopia statue where I began, I don't want to travel so far that the Gamemakers use some awful tactic to push me back again so I just cast my line here. The river holds some small chub and I manage to catch half a dozen fish before my tortoise meat runs out; I mash one for bait and wrap it in plastic, then cut the heads off the others. Just as I steel myself to eat the fish raw and hope that it won't make me ill, a parachute floats gently down beside me. My heart flutters and I grab it eagerly, thankful that someone out there thinks I am still worth sponsoring, I have been sent a small cooking pot with something wrapped up inside…matches!

The prospect of a fire makes me giddy but I don't want anyone to see the smoke so I spend some time looking for a good place to finally put my fire-lighting training into practice. I find a tree with wide branches and pull out the shrubs and grass beneath it; then I use my hands to dig a pit for my fire and light the kindling I have collected. The smoke is minimal and, as it rises, is easily dispersed by the branches of the tree; happy with my work I use sticks to create a shelf and rest my pot of water on top. I mince the fish as small as I can and find some wild liquorice growing on the river bank, they go into the pot together and I recast my fishing line whilst the soup cooks. The resulting meal is only lukewarm, overly salty and contains bits of sand but it's satisfying and I lift my face in thanks to whoever is still looking out for me. My moment of peace is broken by the sound of cannon fire, I snatch the knife and then remain frozen as my eyes search the area for an oncoming attacker…but no-one appears. Eventually my anxiety abates but I now need shelter for the night.

I consider looking for another cave or crack in the rocks but I don't want to run into more of the huge spiders; instead I settle on a variation of the first shelter I built out in the sandy desert, digging the soft earth from the base of a tree and squashing most of my body into the hole. My shoulders and head remain exposed and I'm too exhausted to dig anymore; the fanfare sounds and I dimly register the picture of Dane, the District One boy, in the sky. I lay my head on my blanket and reach my fingertips up to wrap it over me, covering my shoulder blades and leaving only a small gap to see. Weary from such a long and exerting day, sleep finds me quickly and I am long gone before the arena turns dark.


	9. Chapter 9: A Killer

The footsteps register as a dream at first but then I open my eyes; the tribute from District Ten looks dirty and tired but she's approaching me with a knife in hand and a hungry look in her eyes. I was so tired last night that I didn't hold on to my knife and now I can just feel the hilt down at my feet; I spring up from my burrow quickly and reach back for my weapon, but the other tribute has already grabbed my exposed backpack and turned to run. I give chase as quickly as possible but the girl is fast and lithe, she sprints as if she knows where she is going and doesn't turn around. I don't want to throw my precious knife so I bend to scoop up small boulders, stumbling but keeping my balance, and hurl them at her. One…two…they bounce off the backpack but don't deter the running girl, her dark hair flies out behind her and she begins to climb the rock face. I pick up more large stones and throw them upwards, hoping to knock her off or at least force her to drop the bag; when that doesn't work I launch myself onto the rock, climbing as quickly as I dare.

Panting I reach the girl's ankle and grab it. "Let go of the bag!" I scream, "Let go now!"

The girl kicks at my face and catches the already sore spot on my head. Instinctively, I smash her foot into the rock again and again until I hear her shriek in pain, but still she tries to struggle from my grip and continue her climb. I bash her foot again and hear a crack as I break one of her toes, but the girl is tough; despite her anguish she manages to kick at me and I lose my grip on her several times.

Screaming for her to just drop my backpack we climb ever higher, and I begin to worry that my fingers won't hold on much longer; but I know I can't just let all my supplies go. I manage to grab her damaged foot but this time I begin to pull, hard, shaking her as I do it. My right arm burns with the effort of hanging on but I don't stop until I hear the girl scream and feel the rush of air as she drops past me and lands on the ground.

My climb down is so fuelled with adrenaline that, at first, I don't register the ground beneath my feet and I stumble. The girl is bleeding and her body looks broken, but my backpack is trapped beneath her, so I take her arm and slide the strap of the pack over it.

"Please…" she begs in a weak, breathy voice "please."

Tears are hot on my face but I shove her heavily onto her front and she howls as I take the pack. Immediately I notice that it's open. A quick root through the belongings tells me that my home-made fishing line and water purification drops have gone; they must've fallen out on their way to the ground. I scour the area nearby, but I can't see anything. A cannon sounds loudly and I turn to see the limp body of the District Ten girl; her jaw is slack and her eyes stare lifelessly at the landscape. The girl has a kind of utility belt and I remove it to search through the pockets; finding her knife, flint and steel and a small solar torch.

I keep myself composed for hours; looking for my dropped items, drinking huge gulps of my un-purified water and hiking away from the area, in case the noise of our struggle has attracted attention. All the time my mind races; I am a killer. When I tugged at her ankle it wasn't to scare her into dropping my bag, I knew I was going to pull her off the rock face. I am a killer. I knew that she was dying on the ground. I am a killer. I am a killer. I am a killer. I am a killer.

A clump of trees provide me with a needed distraction and I harvest around ten sweet-tasting fruits, but they are ash in my mouth and can't stem the guilt I feel. The afternoon is upon me when I see a medium sized lizard sunbathing on a flat boulder; I miss him with my first stab and he scurries under the rock, but I dig down into his hiding place until he scampers out and manage to stab him through his stomach. He bites my hand so I pin his neck with my knee and gut the innards from his belly.

I make a fire and use a sharp stick to skewer the fresh meat; my stomach registers the smell of the food and grumbles in appreciation, but my mind is elsewhere and I feel unclean. While the meat cooks I remove the long, curved toenails from the carcass; I've seen people do this before in District Four, the nails make excellent fish hooks, I just need some kind of fishing line. Inspiration strikes and I take one of the long green leaves from a fruit tree and pick it apart into fibres; this is a good, it requires minute attention and my mind isn't free to think about anything else. After hours of work using the leaf fibres, my hair and the toenails, I have two serviceable fishing lines. I bury the remainder of the lizard carcass, including the toenails I broke when I was trying to thread them, and then sit with my back to a boulder, waiting for the fanfare.

A big part of my doesn't want to look, I want to hide my face away and not see reality, but I owe it to the people of District Ten to see the picture of the girl I killed and I don't let my eyes close until she's gone.


	10. Chapter 10: Poison

The next day I simply focus on gathering supplies; I sat awake for much of the night, frightened that the District Ten girl would haunt me in my dreams, but I feel worse when she doesn't. I wonder if that makes me a bad person…but I don't wonder too much, I've had sponsors so far and I can't lose them now by breaking down over the death of an opponent.

I catch four little fish, wrap them in green leaves and bake on the smouldering coals of my dawn fire; I think of the first couple of days, when I was too scared to even attempt a fire, and I wonder if killing the girl has brought about a change within me. Certainly I don't want to run into Ebb and his friends, but I don't feel the terror I did before, perhaps I would even try to fight if it were one-on-one.

The fish is delicious, but it would do better on a bed of pearly grain. I sit, picking my teeth with a fish bone and looking out onto the river. Ominous, black clouds are drawing in from the mountains; I wonder if any tributes have made it that far? Probably not, the Game makers wouldn't like anyone being so far away from the action; no doubt they would've been chased back to the river with the rest of us.

An hour or so later the clouds are directly overhead and the rain begins; it's refreshing at first, but then it becomes irritating and cold. I wish I could shelter in the crevices of the mountain but my skin crawls at the thought of the spiders, so I tell myself to toughen up and sit it out. First I find some sticks that are still dry, there's not much but it's enough to act as kindling for a fire later, and store it in my backpack. Next, I thread three stiff, green leaves through my hair as a kind of hat and then draw my hands up into my jacket, keeping a firm grip on my knife.

The rain drags on throughout the day and I wonder if the river will burst its banks; it'd be good news for me and Ebb, I doubt many other tributes can swim, but I don't want to be caught sleeping in a flash flood. I sit, hunched; watching the choppy water lap at the bank, but the water level never seems to rise, even after hours and hours of rain.

At dusk the rain becomes a gentle mist and I use my dry sticks and matches to light a fire. I remove my jacket and shirt, spreading them out nearby to dry. I have two fish left and I decide to go ahead and eat them; I didn't want to risk losing my fragile fishing lines in the rain but I'll cast them again in the morning as long as the weather stays dry. A couple of hours later, my clothes are a little damp and covered in a layer of sand, but I put them back on anyway and shuffle around when they irritate my skin.

The Capitol seal appears in the sky but there have been no deaths today, I rest my head back against the huge boulder and watch something move in the distant darkness to my right. I don't find out what it is because I nod off to sleep without any effort at all.

I awake with such a start that I make a snorting noise. Panting, I look in each direction for an attacker and then sink back down again when I realise I am alone. The sun is fully up and I must have slept for hours, but it feels as if I only closed my eyes a moment ago.

The day feels warm but there is dampness in the air from the rain; tiny flies buzz around in frantic clouds and I smack them away from my arms and face as they bite me. I see to my fishing lines and cast them in the river before filling my water bottles and cupping water in my hands to splash my face.

It takes me a few moments to spot the first dead fish but then I see them…all of them…floating towards the top of the water. There must be more than forty tiny translucent corpses drifting across the river in front of me and I can see the light glinting off a hundred more downriver.

How could something have killed so many fish so quickly? Something toxic maybe? Possibly, if someone had poisoned the river but surely no tribute would be that stupid; even if someone was sent poison by a sponsor they'd have to be confident of another water supply to do this. I let the water drain away through my fingers; I can't risk drinking it now after all. Suddenly I'm furious, I just want a moment's respite from the Games, just a day to rehydrate, sleep and eat. I pound my fist into the ground and kick at the floating fish before dropping onto the wet sand with a thud.

It takes all of my willpower to stand up and decide to carry on. I carefully pack my fishing lines away in my pack, store one knife on the utility belt and keep the other in my hand; I won't be the only tribute looking for water today.

I'm not sure which direction to choose so I travel along the river bank for a while, acutely aware of the heat and hoping I don't stray into a trap. Around noon I spot a hairy mass on the sand, it's a larger version of the spiders from the mountain and it lies, pathetically, with its legs in the air and the river water lapping around it. I can't believe how big it is, the body must be at least six feet in diameter and each long leg is thick and covered in course black hair. I can't resist poking one of the legs with my knife and I jump backwards as they contract reflexively.

Shuddering, I decide to clear out and move on but then I hear something coming my way. A tribute stumbles towards me; I think it's the boy from District Three, there is a large gash across his forehead, he's holding his side and blood drips between his fingers. Behind him the District Two girl walks slowly, knowing he is too injured to run from her for long, she passes a short sword from hand to hand and twists her hips as if she is stretching a sore muscle.

My heart beats quickly and I wonder what kind of head start I might get if I run now, but I can't see any direction that would give me the cover I need to hide. All of a sudden an idea occurs and I clamber inside the legs of the dead spider. The limbs twitch and try to close but I manage to squeeze between them and wedge myself around the gaping mouth of tiny teeth, hoping the District Two girl doesn't come to investigate the creature's corpse.

I hear the District Three boy's death and, from the grunting of the girl, I can tell he fought hard until the end, but the cannon sounds and I know I am one tribute closer to home.

The girl stops to take a bottle of water from her own backpack and I wonder if the strong tributes poisoned the river, they must have plenty of water at their camp and it would certainly ensure that the rest of us remained weakened. She stretches out and swings her arm around, grimacing a little at some discomfort and then she saunters in my direction but I can't tell if she's seen me or if she interested in the spider. My palms sweat and I wipe them off on my trousers so I can get a good grip on both knives. The girl comes so close that I'd swear she can hear my heart thud in my chest, she looks at the spider with interest and I ready myself for the fight, but then she just walks past me. I turn, as quietly as I can, to see what has caught her interest and I spot her staring at the dead fish; she spears one with her sword and peers at it with a confused expression.

Feeling only terror, I slip out of from spider's legs and run towards the girl; she groans as she turns, and the speared fish flies off in an arc when she strikes at me with her sword. I pray that I'm right about her hips or stomach being weak and barrel straight into her; she yells and catches my shoulder with the flat of her sword but I manage to push her down and sit on her stomach, pinning her arms to the ground. She spits at me and swears, bringing up her knees to bruise my groin and dislodge me, I lose my advantage and she kneels on my stomach whilst reaching for her dropped sword. My torso screams in pain from her bony joints but I refuse to be ended this way and I manage to punch her in the side of the head, preventing her from getting to her weapon. When she head-butts me everything else seems to happen in slow motion; the pain is almost unbearable and I convulse forwards in an adrenaline fuelled rage, biting down on her arm until I feel warm blood fill my mouth. The girl screams and jumps off me; I know she has gone for her sword but I'm so dizzy I can't think straight, pure blind luck helps me find my knife and I stab it in her direction, randomly, until it finally connects with her neck. The girl has an iron will and manages a few steps forwards but, when the knife falls out the wound, the blood spills like a waterfall. Her face goes white and the sudden blood loss makes her stumble to her knees so that we are practically face-to-face on the ground, clawing pathetically at each other for a couple of minutes, until I reach the knife and draw it across her throat in an angry smile. The girl falls forwards and I can hear choking, but soon enough she is gone and I roll onto my back, holding my head to try to stem the white hot pain within.

I know I need to move so they can collect the body but I fall as soon as I try to stand; I've never experienced such a strong blow to the head and now I can't seem to balance. I retain just enough sense to hook my arm through the District Two girl's backpack and grab her sword, and then I shuffle forwards on my forearms and knees until I reach a couple of huge boulders. The parachute arrives almost immediately but my hands are trembling too much to open my gift; I have to put the little tin down and take some deep breaths before trying again. I seem to have been sent pills, there are around twenty of them and, at first, I wonder what exactly they're for; more than anything I need something to purify the water of poison, but these have a little green cross on them and that indicates medicine. We don't use much Capitol medicine in District Four, there's a woman who sells homemade salves for burns or infection, but the richer residents can afford to visit the office in the town square that has a large, green cross painted on the window, and see a real doctor for real medicine.

In the girl's backpack I find the bottle of water I'd seen her use before she died; I take two pills and drink from it deeply, it's my first real drink of the day and it eases the discomfort of my sore mouth and throat. The pills are amazing; within a couple of hours my searing head and stomach pains have become an uncomfortable, dull ache. I've transferred some of the girl's belongings (another large bottle of water and a packet of crackers) into my own backpack, but I'm intrigued over the tin she had; there's no label but it has a ring on top which I pull back with my finger. As soon as the ring-pull exposes the contents to the air there is an audible 'pop' and the tin begins to heat up in my hands; with disbelief I hold the tin to my nose and inhale the smell of warm beef stew.

I don't even bother using my hands and just tip it backwards into my open mouth and gulp down the delicious meal; I use my fingers to get the last of the gravy out of the can and then throw it out onto the sand.

Later that evening, the pictures of the girl from District Two and the boy from District Three appear in the sky and I wonder how my family feel about my fight today. I can't say I was provoked or that I did it because she stole my supplies, I just did it to get home.

A booming voice interrupts my thoughts "Tributes of the Second Hunger Games!"

I look up into the sky, as if there might be a talking face projected onto the inky darkness, but I can't see anything.

The voice continues "You may have noticed that the river is now…well let's just say I wouldn't use it in my afternoon cocktail! The Capitol has decided to provide you with a feast tomorrow at noon, there will be plenty to eat and drink, you just need to get yourselves to the cornucopia statue where you began ten days ago. Noon tomorrow, don't be late!"

The voice disappears and I sit still, now convinced that the Capitol found a way to poison the river, and that it was done to give use an incentive to go to the feast. I wonder if I should hike through the night and find a hiding space, but I doubt I could even get half way without collapsing; instead I decide to rest my head against the boulder and try to get some sleep. Perhaps the other tributes will get there tonight and kill each other so that I can just wake up and go home.


	11. Chapter 11: Time for a Feast

I sit, looking at my little pile of kindling, and wonder whether a fire in the dark is a good idea; on the one hand, the other tributes might see it as they make their way to the cornucopia but, on the other hand, they might ignore a fire because they want to get to the feast on time. I wonder a while and then just go ahead and light it anyway; I doubt the strong tributes will even leave the cornucopia at all today, that's if there's even a strong team left, the only ones still alive are Ebb, Loi and the District Two boy.

My body aches and even the pain pills can't get rid of the feeling that my swollen face is pulsating with my every breath. I continually bite my tongue and inner cheek as I struggle to eat and drink, but I know it's going to be a long, horrible day, so I force down half my crackers and almost the full bottle of water. I spend some time stretching out each of my muscles and making a few practice swings with the short sword; it's heavier than anything I've used before but I'm glad to have a real weapon to go to the feast with.

Dawn hasn't hit the arena yet but I don't waste any more time; my sense of direction isn't perfect and, though I'm pretty sure I'm heading the right way, I don't want to risk missing out on the supplies (though I'd happily miss out on the fighting!) I have a solar torch in my pack but it's not too dark so I don't bother with it. As I walk, I wonder if Poma will miss school today, certainly my mother will be watching the huge television screens in the town square, I bet she was awake earlier than me this morning. My father won't be able to miss work, he'll be unloading boats at dawn, but the dockmaster might let him knock off early to see the feast. It's strange knowing that my family are half a world away but that they can see everything I do.

The walk to the cornucopia is uneventful and, for once, I really feel the size of the arena; with only a handful of tributes left it's no surprise that I don't find myself face to face with any others.

By dawn I notice that the trees are getting closer together and, by mid-morning, I hear voices. I freeze to listen and pick up traces of complaining, arguing and then just general conversation; creeping as quietly as I can, I pick through the spiky trees and spot Ebb and Loi leaning against the golden cornucopia.

How close should I get? If I want any real chance of grabbing water and running away then I'll have to get closer but I don't want to be spotted by the others. A cannon makes me jump and I see Ebb and Loi draw their weapons and whip around the other side of the cornucopia.

"Got her!" The boy from District Two shouts, snorting and then spitting the phlegm on the ground, "speared her with her own weapon."

"Which one was it?" Ebb asks

"It wasn't your little friend if that's what you're asking" the District Two boy replies with an evil grin "I still can't believe you let her go."

"Shove it, I told you where she was hiding. You probably just couldn't find her." Ebb counters derisively.

Well, at least I was right about something; Ebb did betray me to save his own skin and, by the sound of it, he wasn't even man enough to go with them and do the deed himself. I hunker down and try to disguise myself in the long dried leaves that cover the sand; I don't want to risk getting any closer just yet. The two hours of waiting pass slowly and I retreat backwards a little when I hear Loi say she's going to have a scout around for hiding tributes, but the others call her back just before noon so I scurry forwards again.

I look at the position of the sun and, just as I'm wondering how much longer this will take, the ground rumbles a little and the starting circle podiums push upwards to form small, steel tables. On each table there are three large bottles of water and several of those self-heating tins of food, it's hardly the 'best of the Capitol,' but it represents survival to us all.

I can tell the three strong tributes are momentarily thrown, they were expecting something directly in front of the cornucopia, and I sense this is my chance. I don't run straight, instead I sprint diagonally and keep my focus wholly on one table; I swing my backpack off one shoulder and use my forearm to sweep the supplies into it. An arrow whizzes overhead and I spin around to see the boy from District Five firing at me from the other side of the circle of tables; I change direction and run in a zig zag, scooping supplies from another table into my rucksack. A shadow falls over me and I duck just as the District Two boy stabs down with his sword, he misses me by a hairsbreadth but causes me to drop my backpack as he stabs again, quickly, into the side of my left foot. I stumble but force myself to stay upright and swing my own sword wildly until he jumps backwards; there's no conversation, no threats or jeers, I just see the will to live in his eyes and I know that, at least in this respect, we're evenly matched. The boy swipes forwards and I grunt as I counter him, my body is a patchwork quilt of pain but I can't give up now, I dive under his arms and thrust my sword into his stomach, almost up to its hilt. He coughs blood at my face and falls to his knees, I put one foot on his shoulder to help me get enough purchase to pull out the sword and scoop up my dropped backpack.

I whip my head around, looking for a possible escape route, and see two arrows hit Ebb; he stumbles backwards as they stick into his shoulder and thigh. I don't wait for him to turn around, I don't want to see his face, instead I take my supplies and limp away as quickly as I can.

Fear, panic and pain sear through me and I blink tears away from my eyes. I feel like I am back to the first day and now I must find somewhere, anywhere, to shelter and inspect my foot. I spy a clump of trees and sit with my back against them, hoping they will be enough to hide my body. It's painful to take off my boot but I hope it has protected my foot from any real damage; blood soaks my sock and my skin but the wound is superficial and I can still wiggle my toes. I tear a strip from my shirt to use as a makeshift bandage and wash my foot with a little water, wishing I had something to protect me from infection; I bind my foot and replace my sock and boot, give myself two minutes to catch my breath, take two more pain pills and fight the urge to vomit.

I drink a bottle of water and check that the other five are intact in my pack. I can hardly believe I got away with as much as I did and I want to sob with relief that today might not be my last day on Earth after all; but I don't, I pick myself up and trudge slowly onwards, away from the others.

I don't get very far before I have to stop; if I walk any further I'll scream. The afternoon is quiet and cool, as if the Game makers are giving us some kind of reprieve from the heat as a thank you for the killing at the feast. I pop open a tin of warm chicken with apricots and rice and, once I've eaten, I collect some long brown and green leaves and then dig myself a hole, diagonally, so it's slightly under the trees. I pause to see the Capitol seal and the pictures of the District Two boy and District Seven Girl; I'm surprised that Ebb survived, I'd have thought the boy from District Five would've kept shooting until he died. Four of us left; I can just about function on the water I have for another few days, if I don't walk around much, but I doubt they'll provide us with another feast to resupply. I shuffle into the hole and cover my exposed head with leaves before plunging into sleep.

When I awake the next day I struggle to clamber out of my hole and body feels like a tapestry of all varieties of pain; a stabbing pain in my foot, shooting pain down my side, a throbbing pain in my shoulder and the usual dull ache of my broken finger. I hobble a little way to relieve myself before eating a tin of mixed beans with lentils and drinking half a bottle of water.

I'm not sure what to do next so I eat another tin of food, take two more pain tablets and slide back into my hole; something tells me that this isn't the time to venture too far out into the arena and, with only four of us left, I bet the Game makers will want to drive us together again soon. I drift in and out of sleep and while away the day quietly, using up my pain pills and squishing the little ants that live in the sand.

That night the Capitol seal shines but there are no faces in the sky; there are still four of us left, I am still three corpses away from my home.


	12. Chapter 12: A Big Bug Problem

The next day I ache all over; I eat a tin of spiced squash and use half a bottle of water to wash down the last of my pain pills. I let myself daydream of home and, when I think of the winding streets and the lapping ocean, I'd swear I can almost smell salt in the air. I want to go home so desperately that I start making stupid decisions; I light a huge fire and hope someone will come to investigate it, I use my sword to hack away at trees to try and attract attention and then, finally, I try to hike back to the cornucopia but fail when my injured foot unbalances me. In the early afternoon, feeling exhausted and irritable, I dig myself another little hole and lie in it, hoping the cameras catch my sullen expression.

That's when I hear them. Two spiders; more enormous than the corpse I found by the river, taller than I am and with huge circular bodies. They rear upwards every few paces to spew a disgusting, stringy web all around them and then they move on, clicking to each other in a strange conversation. I am immediately struck by their size; have the little ones grown? Were the Game makers waiting for the right moment to let the big ones out? Either way, I don't want to stick around and become bait.

I scurry out of my hole as quietly as possible and duck behind a tree to ensure that everything, except my sword, is stored in the backpack. I swing it carefully over my shoulder and back away as quickly as I dare. My attention is purely focussed on the spiders and this quickly becomes a problem for my footing; the terrain isn't smooth and my balance is impaired, meaning I soon find myself stumbling backwards, unable to hold back a yelp of pain. The creatures let out a sickening squeal that could almost be described as excitement; the spider at the fore looks back at its partner and I swear I see it point a hairy digit in my direction. I shuffle backwards and get to my feet, running, crashing and stumbling in a desperate search for somewhere to hide. They get close quickly and the first creature disgorges its sticky web all over my back, it sticks to my pack and pulls me backwards to the ground; the spider bears down on me and lowers its vast, circular mouth until I see myself reflected in the rows of teeth. I try to stab my sword into its huge leg but it doesn't even make the creature flinch so I try again, stabbing upwards this time, grazing the belly of the beast, making the spider squeal so loudly that the sound rings in my ears. I strain to get up but the webbing sticks me to the ground; the second spider runs and pokes its leg towards me, almost spearing my eye. I remember the small spiders from a few days ago, one was wrapping me in web whilst the other seemed to be a sentry, only attacking when I moved. I risk keeping totally still. I force myself to ignore the mouth, coming closer as the spider lowers itself down to my head, and watch the second spider until it takes up a sentry post a few feet away; then I stab upwards and put all of my hate for the Games into the thrust. The sword comes out with a waterfall of green slime and the spider cries out in pain; I slip my arms out of the backpack straps and roll out between its legs.

I don't turn to look, I don't worry about my foot, I just run.

Minutes later, in the panic of my escape I hear a sound, it's barely above a whisper but it registers because it's my name.

"Delta…Delta, down here."

The sound comes from a shallow crevice beneath a huge boulder and I don't give myself time to think about it, I just drop and roll, shuffling my body into the darkness and letting my eyes adjust to the gloom. I make out a body and the shade of blood on the sand.

"Ebb?" I whisper in surprise "What are you doing under here?"

He laughs hoarsely "I'm dying."

I don't know what to say so I just stay quiet; I saw him take two arrows at the feast but it's not enough to make me forget his betrayal.

I can hear clicking from outside and I forget about my hatred for Ebb, shuffling further into the crevice and feeling the dampness of his wounds against my clothes. What little sunlight we have is blacked out by a huge and hairy leg, stamping into the ground outside the boulder; I hold my breath and pray that the spider isn't intelligent enough to track me. The next few seconds feel like an hour, but the spider moves on and I risk peering out; behind me is the huge dead body of the creature I stabbed, ahead of me is the spider's partner, clicking and squealing as it moves through the trees.

I exhale and lie back under the boulder. The inside isn't large but there's enough breathing space so long as Ebb and I stay flat on our backs.

The hours tick on and I have to break the silence, "what happened to you after the feast?"

Ebb wheezes as he speaks "I fell down and Loi went after the boy with the arrows, they ran and I crawled away."

"Are you sure? Or is this another hiding space your friends know about?" I ask peevishly

Ebb replies between short breaths "I never told them where you were; I sent them north, I assumed you'd travel back to the river once you could move."

"Oh…"it's the only response I have; these Games haven't needed much compassion from me and I have little to spare right now, other than a mumbled thank you, but now I feel like I owe him more than I'll have chance to pay back.

"Do you want me to have a look at your cuts?" The question sounds moronic and I'm glad he ignores it, there's no way I could possibly help him now.

"Delta, when you get back home…" I try to shush him but he continues "please don't forget my family."

"Ebb you didn't need to call me in here to tell me to look out for your family…you know I will." I say this a little more harshly than its intended, trying to retain my composure and distract myself from the tiny blood splatters he coughs into the air.

"I didn't call you in here to make you feel you have to help my family…I wanted to save you" I gasp in surprise as he takes my hand; it's the first time in days someone has touched me without wanting to kill me. "Just like I wanted to save you when I saw you by the river. Do you know how long I stood watching you? Wondering if I should just leave…" He pauses to cough, "we were friends Delta and that has to mean something, even here."

I want to tell him that it can't mean anything, I can't have a friend here and I can't lose a friend here; this place has taken more of my humanity than I ever thought I'd give and now it suddenly wants me to feel real emotions again. If I try to speak I'll cry so, instead, I lace my fingers through Ebb's and squeeze his hand.

Ebb pulls my wrist up to his cheek and I hear him rasp as he inhales deeply "you still smell of the sea."

There are no more words and, when the wheezing stops and he drops my wrist, I only allow myself a few moments to cry. I roll out of the crevice and lie flat on my belly, reaching in for Ebb's hand; it takes all kinds of strength to pull him out from under the rock, but I want his body to make it home in one piece so I keep going until he is laid out on the sand.

Next I use my sword to cut my abandoned backpack out of the dried spider-web and watch as the Capitol seal shines in the sky; I see Ebb, strong and sullen in his tribute photograph, but no-one else. I drink some water and eat a tin of food before deciding to go back to the boulder; I slide into the crevice and position myself so I can see out, sword gripped and ready to fight.


	13. Chapter 13: The End

I dream. Throughout the night I dream I'm climbing an endless mountain, and the District Ten girl slices my feet off and Ebb's picture looks down on me from the sky.

When I awake I don't make any effort to move, I just lie there and let little drips of condensation land on my head. Perhaps I could just stay in here? I've done my fighting; no-one can say I haven't tried; now I could just wait for the others to die. Somehow I don't think I'll be allowed to do that, the Game makers will send more spiders or some other ghastly creation to come and force me out.

I roll out of the crevice and then reach back inside to retrieve my backpack; I sit against the boulder, to eat and drink, and then wonder what to do next. The Game makers won't want me to hike anywhere and, frankly, I don't see any point in sticking around here. The water I took from the feast is getting a little low (I seem to have lost a bottle in my tussle with the spider,) so I might as well go back to the cornucopia.

My ankle hurts; I can walk, but I don't like the thought of being up against Loi, or having to run from the arrows of the District Five boy. I chance saying "I can't walk to the cornucopia like this," but there are no parachutes, no pain pills and no chance that anyone is going to help me through this last confrontation. I grunt with displeasure and then decide to just get going, its slow progress but I soon see the glint of the golden cornucopia in the morning sunshine.

I crawl on my belly, sword in hand, and find a position at the front of the sparse treeline to watch for movement. After an hour of waiting I emerge nervously and scurry into the mouth of the cornucopia; there's still plenty in the way of supplies and I help myself to a two litre bottle of water and drink the whole thing almost in one go. Next I eat two tins of food, I even search through them until I find the chicken with apricots that I liked. I wait and wait but no one appears; the other two tributes must be fighting it out in some other part of the arena. At some point I fall asleep again, behind an empty water drum, and I awake with a start and try to stretch out my fatigue.

The afternoon bleeds into the evening and I find gloves and a blanket stuffed down behind some containers at the back corner of the cornucopia, the gloves fit well but the blanket is stiff with dried blood so I discard it. Eventually, the heat of the day become the evening freeze and I'm glad of the shelter, the Capitol seal appears in the sky and my heart quickens when I see the face of the District Five boy.

This is it…two of us left.

I feel so full of energy that I could believe my skin is vibrating! I start to pace, wandering around the place with my sword ready, looking into the vacuous dark to see my final enemy. A thousand thoughts run through my head; is she holed up somewhere? Stuck in a spider's web? Too injured to make it back here? Where are my family? They'll know where Loi is from the footage of her fight with the District Three boy, are they worried I'm going to lose or confident that I'm going to win? In between all these thoughts is the panic that she might emerge at any moment, strong and uninjured, ready to kill me.

I wait all night but the fight doesn't come and my body hangs with fatigue; a sensible person might try to sleep but I can't even sit down without hearing a snap or thud and springing back up again. Eventually, when the sky is streaked with pink and yellow, I hear her approach.

She's either injured or being cautious; her footsteps drag and she's moving slowly, carefully, pausing every so often, is she catching her breath or listening for me?

I don't know how long I stand inside the cornucopia, waiting for her and imagining her just outside waiting for me. A bang on the outside of the wall makes me jump and I can't help but give a tiny yelp of surprise, knowing I've given away my position I grip my sword and decide to rush out and attack. When I am at the mouth of the cornucopia I hear a thud on the ground beside me and, when I see the small, spiky device that has landed in the ground, I dive sideways; moments later the thing explodes and tiny shards of metal tear into the cornucopia, puncturing everything inside and embedding into the golden walls. If I'd stayed still in my hiding place I'd be dead.

Loi appears quickly, her face is filthy and something has hewn off the hair and skin on the right side of her skull, but she has full strength in her arms and, when her sword collides with my own, it sends shockwaves into my shoulders. It's a struggle but I manage to parry her strokes and get myself upright with only a shallow jab to my side, but she's so much stronger than me I'm worried my luck will soon run out. I jump backwards, away from her blows, and turn as if I am going to run; then I drop to the floor and trip her, stabbing my sword into the ground and hitting her thigh. Loi reaches to a bandolier around her torso and throws another of the small, spiky bombs at me; I scurry backwards but I'm not fast enough and metal lodges itself in the side of my head, face and shoulder. The pain hardly registers; instead I feel only stiffness in my shoulder and the trickle of blood down my forehead. When I stand, I look around for my sword and see Loi struggling to get to her feet, her thigh is pouring with blood and she pants and splutters in clear distress. I spot my weapon in the grass and my side screams as I try to pick it up, but I know that this is my chance, I try to swing it around to Loi but she isn't there.

I spot the trail of blood easily but then I hear a familiar beep and throw myself to the ground as another bomb explodes shrapnel over my head; I roll over and over until I am next to the cornucopia and try to catch her from the other side. Loi is no fool; she's waiting for me and throws herself bodily at me, pushing into the wall of the cornucopia and strangling me. My sword is gone from my hand and her grimy face is contorted with pain and effort as her strong hands clutch at my throat; I scrabble at her but I'm so tired, so weak with adrenal fatigue, that I can't make her let go. My lungs burn and I start to lose consciousness when I spot the final bomb hanging from the bottom of her bandolier, it takes three kicks to set it off and I feel as much pain as I expected to when I take a huge amount of the shrapnel to my lower body. Loi drops her grip and falls, screaming to the floor, in that moment we both see the glint of daylight on metal in the sand; I get there before the District Two girl and, with a shaking hand, stab it into her neck.

I don't know if she cries out, takes a final breath or even if I have done enough to kill her, I just fall backwards onto the ground; I don't have anything else to give, survival or death, let it happen to me now.

"Ladies and gentleman! I give you the winner of the second Hunger Games! Delta Alongshore of District Four!"

After:

The recovery room has a mirror. I look like a wild animal with my bloodshot eyes, dirt covered body and the glint of steel in the bloody holes in the side of my face and head. I don't remember much else from recovery because they had to sedate me to stop me screaming; now I sit in a comfortable chair, wearing a soft nightgown and fluffy robe, awaiting my release.

My first real visitor, other than the hospital staff, is my stylist Issie; to her endless credit she doesn't hug me.

"I brought you your dinner" she says quietly and proffers a silver tray of toast and slices of apple; I'm pleased they're allowing me solid food again and I take some fruit to chew.

I don't really know what to say so I indicate the shaved side of my head "They cut my hair to get to the metal piece in my skull." My voice still sounds strange, all conversation that doesn't end in death sounds strange.

Issie nods "I'll comb it over so no-one can see."

I shrug, the last thing I care about is whether or not people like my hairstyle. "Why have you come?" I ask, the question sounds ruder than I intended it but I don't apologise.

"You're being interviewed tonight then you'll take the train home. You'll be back in District Four by morning."

The sobs of relief come unbidden, they send cramps rippling through my stomach and I feel Issie's arm around my shoulders, squeezing me hard, until it stops.

Issie dresses me in a turquoise ball-gown with long sleeves; it's heavy but, in the mirror, I can see that it covers my bruised and emaciated frame. As promised, she combs my hair over the shaved portion of my head and secures it in an elegant knot behind my ear. Finally, I slip my feet into soft sandals that would be totally useless in the desert.

In the wings of the stage I catch sight of the tribute photos that line the studio, all but my own have a red cross through them. Panic rises in my chest and I can't seem to breathe out. An attendant seems ready for this and sticks a needle in my arm, instantly I feel a calm flood my body and I sit politely as the interviewer shows me video footage of each death.

It's strange seeing myself on the screens but there I am; catching fish, stitching a wound and stabbing another tribute. They try showing footage of Ebb's last night under the boulder, but the sound quality isn't great, they catch our short conversation though, and that's when I nearly break down. I see other areas of the arena, including a huge snake that actually eats two of the tributes, the interviewer tries to ask how I would've dealt with this threat but she seems to realise that I'm not going to make a lot of conversation and backs off.

Eventually it's over, I board the tribute train and attendants give me sleeping pills and put me to bed; I am locked in unconsciousness, forced to relive worst days of the Games all through the night. I awake with a seriously dry mouth and sit in the shower until someone calls me to eat; even then I take my meals in my room because every inch of the place reminds me of the dead boy I used to see every day.

I smell District Four before I see it, the trace of salt is so familiar that I press myself to the open window, gulping it in. My family are waiting at the station and, even though I've imagined them every night, it doesn't seem real until Poma runs and clings to my waist. I can feel the wetness of his tears through the thin fabric of my shirt and I let his hair run through my fingers; my father's strong hand appears on my shoulder and I feel my mother's warm kiss on my head.

Through the throng of Capitol staff I suddenly see Veera; her face is heavily lined with pain and, as she walks towards me, I can see the grief she carries with her.

"Veera…" I start talking before I really know what I'm going to say, but she shushes me gently. Her hand strokes my arm and then pulls me into her, enveloping me in the smell of fish and smoke, I tell her that I'm sorry about Ebb and she tells me she knows…she saw it all.

A weight lifts from my chest and I feel like the Games are finally over.


End file.
